House of Wolves
by isthisjustfantasy
Summary: In the cutthroat world of WWE, it's all-against-all as everyone watches their own backs. At least, that's how Georgia sees it when she arrives on the main roster. Surrounded by heroes and villains, how and where will she find her place as two opposing forces start to pull her in either direction? [feat. Sami Zayn and Dean Ambrose] [Rather explicit sexual content]
1. Welcome to the Jungle

**Authors note: this story takes place in a completely kayfabe world—that is, the wrestlers ****_ARE _****their characters, and they legitimately compete in matches and have real feuds and rivalries.**

* * *

_Welcome to the jungle_

_Watch it bring you to your knees_

_I wanna watch you bleed_

* * *

They say day one is always the worst, and I'm inclined to agree. My first day in developmental down in Tampa was, to put it lightly, hellish, and I had no illusions about what my first day would be like now that I had finally been called up to the main roster.

Theoretically speaking, it should have been easier, because when I moved to Tampa I knew absolutely nobody, but on the main roster there were at least people I had known on a first name basis in developmental and had relatively good matches with. That was a pretty naïve thing to assume, I found out, because the first time I waved and smiled at Summer Rae in the divas' locker room, she turned away like she didn't even see me and started talking to one of the Bellas.

People change when they get to the main roster, and I was just a little fish in a huge ocean once again. One that seemed to be full of piranhas.

When I walked into the divas' locker room for the first time, I noticed a certain amount of segregation. On the one side were the likes of the Bellas and AJ Lee. On the other, there was Kaitlyn, Layla and Natalya, to name a few. The Bellas intimidated the holy hell out of me to be quite frank, with their identicalness and all, so I walked over to near where Layla was flicking through her phone and sat down.

"Hi, darling, what's your name?" she said, looking up and smiling at me.

"I'm Georgia," I replied. "Georgia Rush."

"Layla," she said, which of course I already knew. "Few rookie tips: don't ever move or touch anyone else's things, and don't stand in front of the mirrors for too long. Keep to those rules and you won't end up getting dragged around by your hair."

She was trying to be nice, but it was kind of intimidating. There were always unwritten codes and rules in locker rooms like these, and I was bound to fuck something up in the beginning.

There wasn't a lot of chatter in the locker room, which I expected. Even between the faces on my side of the locker room, everyone was eyeing each other up. Layla had given me enough information to survive within the locker room, but out in the wider world of the WWE, the world of title reigns, rivalries and reputations, I was alone and adrift.

Alright, so, let me fill you in a little bit about the hero of your story. As you already know, my name is Georgia Rush. I'm a Canadian girl, from Vancouver originally, by way of Lance Storm's wrestling academy in Calgary.

I'm billed as 5'9" which makes me one of the taller girls in the locker room—that mainly means I get to stand behind the shorter ones as they do their make-up in the mirror—and even though it's not polite to announce it in the ring, I weigh in at 140 pounds. That means, physique-wise, I sit nicely between the dainty stick figures like Summer Rae and powerhouses such as Kaitlyn. Other vital stats include age (24), hair (strawberry blonde, hanging to my shoulder blades) and eye color (brown). My favorite food is avocado, my favorite TV show is Arrested Development and my favorite band is Pearl Jam, but I like a bit of everything in moderation. It's nice to make your acquaintance.

I was getting a little bit edgy in the divas' locker room, sick of people looking me over, trying to gauge who I was and what I was doing there without actually, you know, asking me, so I went out in search of a bottle of water and maybe something to eat from catering.

There were maybe 30 or 40 bottles of water sitting on a table in some arrangement a production assistant had obviously worked quite hard on. I chuckled to myself and paused, suddenly not sure of which bottle to take so as not to disturb the symmetry of the pattern. Someone walked up beside me.

"Here, if I take this one, you can take that one and the pattern will stay the same," they said. I looked up and Mr Sami Zayn was standing there, grinning at me.

"Oh hey," I said, taking the water bottle he indicated. He took the other. Sami and I had a cordial relationship back at NXT—a Canadian knows another Canadian when they see them—but other than that we didn't really have too much to do with one another. Sami had received a huge push since he came up a month or two earlier—management really saw something in him, and he brought the crowds to life.

"How's life on the main roster treating you?" I asked, cracking the top of the bottle open, moving over to a table full of fresh fruit.

"It's good—congratulations on getting called up."

"Thanks," I said, smiling gratefully.

"Eyes on that divas title?"

"For sure! Once I prove my chops."

"Lot of competition," he pointed out.

"Yeah, and AJ avoids a fight any chance she gets." Rookie tip number one: research your competition. "What about you? Got a target?"

Sami stroked his beard in mock contemplation. "I think as a Canadian it's my patriotic duty to win the United States title first up. Just need a couple more wins and they won't be able to refuse."

"Yeah, hey, good luck. I'll seeya round."

"Thanks, same to you." I gave Sami a grin before spinning around and coming into contact with some large, unmoving and… oily? I momentarily lost my grip on my uncapped water bottle and liquid flew out of the top, landing simultaneously on myself and the person I'd just slammed into.

Fandango was staring down at me, chest now glistening with water as well as the copious amounts of baby oil he was prone to using. As I quickly screwed my lid back on and started wiping water off of my face, his upper lip curled into a sneer.

"Clumsy," he growled, grabbing me by the wrist, not gently either.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you," I stammered, tugging my arm away.

"Hey man, it was an accident—I distracted her," Sami broke in, putting a hand to Fandango's chest, trying to push him away from me, but his grip on my wrist was unrelenting.

"For such a beautiful girl you are not very graceful at _all_," he said, every word drawn out.

Suddenly Summer Rae appeared at his side, scowling between her dance partner and myself. She started to brush water off of his chest, but he flicked her hand away.

"Look, if you've got a problem, you can handle it in the ring, with me," Sami said.

"You are not my problem," Fandango said, keeping his eyes locked on me. Summer was positively glaring at me now—I guess whatever you could have called our 'relationship' before in NXT no longer applied here on Smackdown. I could see Sami starting to tense now, ready for a fight. Oh god, I really didn't want them to get into it in the middle of catering. That's one way to earn yourself a reputation on your first night.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, we got a problem here?" a voice came from somewhere behind Fandango. It was Teddy Long.

"Hey Teddy," Sami said, keeping his eyes locked on Fandango, while his were locked on me. "Fandango and myself in the ring tonight, if that's alright with you."

"Sounds like a good match to me, playa."

"I already told you Zayn, I do not care about you. _She _disrespected me," Fandango said, still not letting go of my arm. It was starting to feel numb.

"Well you can't fight a girl, but hey—what about Summer Rae? We got two girls, two guys. How about an intergender tag match, later tonight?"

"That will have to suffice," Fandango said, throwing my arm down, finally. I rubbed my wrist. "Summer can easily take care of the likes of her."

So that was how I got my first match on Smackdown, and that was also I guess how my association with Sami Zayn started, too, when I think back. I was already ring-ready in my green outfit—full length tights and a matching halterneck stopping just short of my belly button—and black boots. Sami led me away from catering to talk strategy. Fandango was much bigger than Sami, and Summer Rae was wickedly dangerous with her long legs and arms.

"The _minute _she tags out to him, get to me straight away. A quick tag is important, otherwise he'll attack me while I'm entering the ring."

I nodded, butterflies starting to form in my stomach. Everyone knew how brutal Fandango could be in the ring.

When we finally got the call up to gorilla, I had significant performance anxiety, which was silly, because I've had literally hundreds of matches over the years. But this one—this was the big one. The television debut. The big leagues. Sami looked at me, obviously aware of my nerves.

"Hey, we need a team name," he said. "How about the Canadian Reds?"

"I like it," I said, laughing.

The guy on the sounddesk looked at us. "Going out separately or together?"

Sami looked to me. "Up to you. It's technically your debut."

I nodded. "Do you mind if I go out after you, then? I'll feel better if you're already in the ring waiting for me!"

"Sure thing. Hit my music!" he pointed at the sound guy.

I heard the roars of the crowd above Sami's entrance music, thinking to myself that I'd be happy to get a quarter of that reaction. In fact, I'd be happy if someone just sneezed and it sounded a little like a cheer. Hopefully a few would recognise me from NXT—I'd had a few good feuds there after all.

"Ready?" the sound guy said. I nodded, breathing out.

He hit a button and my music began to play—a completely new entrance theme to distinguish myself as now being a part of the main roster. When I'd gone to Jim Johnston to see about something that would fit my personality and style, I'd given him a few of my favorite songs and artists and what I envisioned my song to sound like. I gotta tell ya, the man is a genius. He'd taken the fuzzy distorted guitar sound of a Queens of the Stone Age track and written a riff that could have come straight out of Pearl Jam's 'Ten' album. It was groovy.

There was no pop when my music started to play, because obviously no one had heard it before, but when I walked out from behind the curtain there were a number of cheers and whistles—I heard someone scream "It's Georgia!"

I was all smiles as I walked down the ramp, surveying the crowd and Sami in the ring. I slid in and walked over to Sami to give him a double-handed high five.

"Canadian Reds," he said, grinning at me. I'd have to get some red tights from the costume department, I thought.

Seconds later, the streamers were lowered and Fandango's music hit. I stood over in the corner with Sami while they did their thing and that crazy flaming silhouette of his was lowered from the rafters. How the heck did he get that thing anyway?

The bell rang as soon as Summer Rae and I stepped out onto the apron, leaving Sami one-on-one with Fandango. Fandango was quick, but Sami was quicker, darting around and behind Fandango as he tried to grapple with him. Finally Fandango got his hands on Sami and irish-whipped him into the corner. He tried to follow after him to slam him into the turnbuckles but Sami jumped up, causing Fandango himself to run into them. Sami landed a few quick kicks to his sides before Fandango decided he'd had enough, shoving Sami backwards roughly, slapping the hand of Summer Rae to tag her into the ring.

"Get her!" he cried angrily, smoothing his hair over as he stepped through the ropes. Sami came over to me immediately as I held out my hand for the tag. I stepped through and stood face to face with Summer Rae.

She was yelling at me, pointing with her bony finger, talking smack. I locked her up in the bullhorns and quickly moved under her arm for an armlock. I received a few elbows to the head for my trouble, and then a kick to the gut. She went to kick me again, but I caught her leg and flipped her up. She landed on her back, head slamming against the canvas. She grabbed at the back of her head as she stood up again.

I ran back into the ropes for some momentum and then flew at her with a crossbody and she went crashing back down again. I stood up quickly and looked down at Summer—she was in the perfect position for a top rope move like an elbow or a leg drop, so I ran to the turnbuckle and hopped up.

The referee was checking on Summer and I saw her grab onto his pants leg, complaining about some injury she supposedly had. I was too busy thinking about getting the ref out of the way that I didn't even notice when Fandango came up on my periphery and pulled my foot out from under me, causing me to lose my balance. I toppled from the top rope, landing awkwardly on my side. I could hear the crowd booing.

Now I was vulnerable, Summer Rae bounced back up—injury miraculously healed! She started to go to work on the shoulder I had fallen on, putting me in a few quick submission moves before yanking my arm down over the rope. I tried to fight back with some kicks, eventually getting her back to the middle of the ring.

One more kick to the gut and I got her into the position for the DDT, swinging my leg back for more momentum, then slamming her head down on the canvas. I rolled her over for the pin, but she kicked out at two. My shoulder was aching a bit after all of Summer's punishment, and I could see her rolling over towards her corner. Now seemed to be a good time for a tag.

We got to our corners at nearly the same time, and then Sami and Fandango were at it again, both refreshed. Sami seemed to have the better measure of Fandango again, able to get him to swing out of anger, which Sami would then dodge and counterattack. Coming off the ropes, Sami ducked down and Fandango tried to pull him up for a powerbomb, but it played right into Sami's offense. His momentum carried him over into a move that seemed to defy the laws of physics, which ended with Fandango on his back and Sami in the pin. He was struggling to get free as the ref counted 1… 2… 3!

The bell rang… Sami did it! He let go and Fandango rolled free to the outside, looking irate. I ducked through the ropes and went over to him, grabbing him by the wrist, pointing and holding his arm up as the victor.

"How's it feel to win your first match?" he said as we turned to each side of the crowd.

"_You _won the match," I laughed. He shrugged.

"No I in team, Georgie!" This time he raised my arm up, asking the crowd for their appreciation. I didn't even do that much, gosh.

Even though the crowd was stoked for our win, backstage it was the same—ice cold. Your win was just another statistic they had to compete against it seemed.

"Nice DDT," AJ said as I walked back into the divas' locker room.

"Oh, thanks," I said, trying to smile in such a way that could be interpreted as appreciative of the compliment but not in a gloating sort of way. Walking on eggshells.

"You know Ambrose does that DDT," she added.

"A lot of people do the leg swing," I said, shrugging. "I copied it from Lita more than him."

"Whatever, just warning you. He doesn't like other people taking his stuff."

From what I'd seen of her on TV, I'd expected AJ to be… meaner. In fact, some of the girls on what you could call the 'face' side of the locker room were colder to me after mine and Sami's win. While some of the other girls were in the shower, I leaned over to Layla.

"Do you know why they wouldn't talk to me at all?" I asked, gesturing to the empty space near where Kaitlyn's bag had been.

"Yeah, well, over here we're all competing for the crowd to like us the best. New diva comes in and gets a reaction—just pushes us further to the backs of their minds," she explained. "Not to mention you have an alliance with a popular superstar now."

"Oh…"

"It's all a competition here, babe. Everything."

"Yeah, I'm realising that."


	2. Times Like These

The next Raw show, I was walking back from make-up when Sami caught up with me.

"Hey Georgia," he said, walking next to me.

"Hi, Sami," I replied. "How's the title run coming?"

"Pretty good, pretty good. Hey, can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure, I think I owe you one."

"I'm one-on-one with Fandango tonight, could use you out at ringside."

"What good would I do?"

"Well, for one, if the girl tries anything—mainly I think it'll annoy him, since he's obviously still upset about the whole water incident. Psychology, y'know."

"A lot of things seem to upset him," I said, laughing. "Sure. Can't hurt for the fans to get more familiar with my face, either."

"That's what I'm thinking, too."

"Uhh, okay, I'll meet you later then, Sami."

He ran back off in the opposite direction. Before Sami's match, I was scheduled to fight one of the Bella twins. I was not entirely clear which one. In all my research, I'd discovered that it didn't really matter—they fought the same way. The only thing I'd have to look out for was their little switching trick. If I could get a win there, I'd be well on the way to facing higher ranked opponents and then, just maybe, a shot at the title.

In honor of my first ever Raw show, I had worn a red version of my wrestling attire. I limbred up behind the curtain as the sound guy hit my music and I walked out—the crowd seemed to recognise my music this time, and my name popped up on the Titantron.

The Bellas came out to a muted chorus of boos, but there were always the wolf whistles. You can't escape those as a diva. I was facing Brie, it seemed. The match started in the usual way, and pretty soon I was the first to capitalise, kicking her in the gut for my typical leg-swinging DDT. In fact, I was pretty much in control the whole way. After the DDT, Brie got to her feet and tried a few moves on me. My plan was to try to maneouvre around her and get behind her to go for the new finishing move I was going to try, a German suplex bridging pin. I call it the Lions Gate—after the bridge.

Finally I got behind her and locked my hands together, pulling back with all my might as she went up and over my head, landing on her shoulders. I lifted my shoulders up so I was bridged with my feet and the top of my head on the mat and held her there. She was stunned and I had her pinned. As I held her there I counted in my head—1… 2… 3! That should have been it!

But no one was counting. I couldn't hold her there any longer and I had to see what was going on. I rolled out from under her and saw that the referee was busy with a ring apron that had somehow been flipped over the bottom rope. No prizes for figuring out who had done that.

"Hey! I just pinned her! Does that seem like an important thing to be doing right now?" I yelled to the ref, pointing at the ring apron.

Seriously, sometimes referees can be so stupid. I know you're not supposed to yell at them, but my temper gets the best of me. The ref finished with his tidying and I turned back to find the Bella still lying there. She looked like she could use another German. I bent down to pick her up but was flipped onto my back and now I was the one being pinned. I was caught off-guard, and I struggled. I felt like I could kick out at two but suddenly the pressure on my shoulders increased. An unnatural kind of pressure that felt suspiciously like someone sticking their feet up on the ropes. But why couldn't the ref see it!?

1… 2… 3… I rolled my shoulder up but it was too late. The bell rang. I stood up as the Bella rolled out of the ring to see the other Bella clutching at her head on the outside, and the one that had pinned me jumping around and hugging her sister. That had been Nikki in the ring. I _had _been tricked after all. I obviously still had a lot to learn.

I was fuming backstage—at myself, for being tricked, at the Bellas, for cheating, and the referee, for being a fucking idiot. I entered the locker room and the Bellas were already there, laughing. I sat down, and Layla looked at me sympathetically, while the others were just looking, smirking. I didn't want Layla's sympathy, though. In fact, I didn't want any of them looking at me. I wanted to get out of there almost as soon as I walked in.

I made sure I was freshened up enough to go out again for Sami's match—though the Bellas flat out refused to move out of the way of the mirrors so I could fix my hair—then went to go find him.

"Hey, kid, sorry about your match," Sami said as I approched him.

"It's okay. I got too ahead of myself, wasn't focused on the situation at hand," I shrugged. "Still want to be valeted by a loser like me?"

Sami laughed. "Hmm, yeah, I think so. Come on."

* * *

Fandango and Summer entered the ring first, then Sami's music hit.

"Wait one sec—they're not expecting you, so let me go out first and I'll call you," he said, moving to the curtain. He walked out, staying in line with the curtain. He acknowledged the crowd, then gestured with his arm for me to come out.

I walked out and looked to the ring. Fandango's nostrils were flared and he was balling his hands into fists while Summer tried to soothe him by stroking his shoulder. So he was still upset at me. I raised my eyebrows to Sami and he grinned knowingly. Let's hope it worked to his advantage.

Fandango started the match all offence, his superior strength and size overwhelming Sami. It took him a while to upset Fandango's rhythm, but once he did he was able to get a few good moves in himself. As Sami started to look in charge, Summer took it upon herself to get up on the apron and distract the referee's attention while Sami covered Fandango. This was the other reason Sami asked me to come out: deal with Summer.

I ran around the outside of the ring and pulled Summer's feet out from under her, causing her face to land on the canvas, then quickly ran back to my side. By that time Sami had stopped covering Fandango, though, and he was rising to his feet.

I saw Summer start to get up on the other side of the ring, looking furious and oh—she was coming this way. As she ran around the back of the ring in front of the commentators I looked for somewhere to get some higher ground above her. The ring apron seemed like a good place.

I hopped up and waited for her to come around, ready to hit her for a flying clothesline or axe handle—whatever I felt like in mid-air. I was about to jump when I felt my hair pull. I reached up and grabbed the wrist of Fandango, who had a fist full of my hair, crying out.

I turned around to face him, pleading him to let me go. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sami climb up to the top rope. I ducked just in time for him to fly off the rope and slam Fandango to the mat. Now the referee was telling me to get down.

"Okay, okay," I said, putting my hands up in the air, the classic 'hey I didn't do anything' gesture. At that moment, Summer swept my feet out from under me and I landed on my back on the apron. Summer pulled me down onto the mats on the outside and jumped on top of me.

She was a flurry of blonde hair, slapping me around the head, sharp fingernails raking at my face. As I tried to get my arms up to cover me I heard the bell ring and Sami's music start to play. At least he'd won the match, but I needed to get Summer off me, like _now_. One of her blows got through and I felt a painful sting on my cheek just under my eye. I cried out and closed my eyes in an attempt to protect them.

I felt someone pull Summer off me and I opened my eyes. Sami was restraining her while the ref came over and checked to make sure I was okay.

"Get off me!" Summer screeched at Sami, and he let her go. She rolled in the ring to see to Fandango, who was lying prone in the centre of the ring. Sami came over to me and the ref.

"Hey, you won!" I said, putting a hand up to my cheek where it stung. I pulled my hand back and glanced at it, seeing traces of blood. Great. Summer probably had a bunch of my skin and foundation under her fingernails now.

"Sure did, thanks to you. You alright?" Sami asked, helping me to my feet.

"Yeah," I said, wiping the blood from my hands across my bare stomach—I didn't want to get blood on my tights. I'd be showering later anyway.

I went straight to the trainer's room to get some treatment for my face, hopping up on the table.

"Can I see it first?" I asked the medical officer. "I just want to see how bad it is."

"Sure," he said, and went over to a draw to pull out a mirror. I held it up in front of me and checked out my battlewounds. Youch. Did she sharpen her nails on purpose or something? There were two parallel gouges, pretty deep, running straight down my cheek. Another three quarters of an inch higher and it would have been my eye.

He put the mirror away and pulled out some antiseptic and bandaids. I grimaced as he dabbed some cotton wool soaked in antiseptic over my wounds, trying to concentrate on something other than the intense stinging sensation so close to my eye. After he applied the bandage, he gave me a couple extra so I could change it whenever I needed to.

"They shouldn't leave a scar," he said. "Or if they do, it'll be faint."

Ugh, I hadn't even thought of that. Welcome to the WWE, Georgia, have an ugly facial scar.

"Thanks, doc," I said, hopping off the table with my new supplies.

Sami whistled as I walked out of the trainers room with my new facial appendage. "Anyone'd think you were the one in the ring with Fandango."

"Hah, I feel like it," I said.

"Seriously, thank you, though. You distracted Fandango enough for me to get the win."

"No problem," I said. "Thanks for saving me from that crazy bitch."

"We make a good team!" he said, grinning.

"Canadian Reds, right?" I tried to grin back, but the movement of my cheeks disturbed the cuts on my face and I winced.

"No more smiling for you," Sami laughed. That wouldn't be a problem once I got back to the divas locker room, I suspected.

* * *

I suspected right. When I walked in, once again Layla was the only one to grimace empathetically when she saw my bandage. They'd all seen what had happened out there on the monitors probably.

"Rough night?" one of the Bellas asked me, ironically. I chose not to respond.

They turned and started whispering/not-whispering to one another, loud enough that I could hear them.

"Some would call it an improvement," one said.

"Summer said she had, like, five pounds of make-up under nails after," the other replied. That was a damn lie. I wear as much make-up as any of the other divas, which is however much Yvonne in make-up deems necessary. Of course, but we're all bitchy females, right? So we have to insult each other based on how much make-up we all wear. Sigh.

Whatever reputation I'd managed to build up after my debut I seemed to have lost after the events of tonight. I couldn't let Summer get away with that.

I got up suddenly. The Bellas turned from their whispered/not-so-whispered conversation to look at me, like they expected me to attack them or something. They wished. I stormed out of the locker room, looking for the nearest person with the ability to give me a match against Summer Rae.

I didn't have to look for long before Brad Maddox found me.

"Georgia!" he said. "Team Brickie wants to offer you a chance to pay back Summer Rae for—that." He pointed to my bandaged cheek.

"Well, okay, great. Tell Team Brickie thanks. When can I have the match?"

"We're liaising with Smackdown management to have the match put on the card." The thing about Brad Maddox is he is technically part of the reason I'm on the main roster now, due to his scouting efforts down at NXT. On the other hand, he is really, really, really annoying.

"You're talking to Booker T," I said matter-of-factly, translating his irritatingly faux-professional language.

"Yeah. You'll have your match."

"Thank you, Brad."


	3. You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby

I was looking forward to my match with Summer Rae on Smackdown, but getting there hadn't been the easiest of tasks. For one, no one thought it was important to tell me that there'd been a change in schedule for the flight to the next town, and I would have missed it if Sami hadn't texted me before check-in closed because he was wondering where I was.

I was last onto the plane, which is always a thoroughly embarassing affair, walking all the way to my seat at the back of the plane, past the veteran superstars, muted looks of realization dawning on their faces as they figured out I was the one holding them up.

"Who even is that?" I heard someone mutter—Seth Rollins it looked like, which was bullshit because I know for a fact I've been introduced to Seth before. Dean Ambrose, seated next to him, turned away from the aisle to respond.

"Georgia Rush," he said. "Sami Zayn's new sidekick."

I shook my head once I was past them. There were worse things I could have been called, I guess. On the plus side, at least some people knew my name now—Ambrose probably only because he thought I'd stolen his DDT.

Getting into the divas locker room was also a difficult feat, because when I asked for directions from a young, male (and therefore easily manipulable) production assistant, they told me to go in the completely wrong direction, which I later learned was on the instructions of a couple of divas who wanted to play a little trick on the newbie. Which ones, I didn't know, but I had my suspicions.

I first got the inkling that the production assistant had sent me to the wrong part of the arena when the lighting started getting kind of dark, and fewer and fewer people were walking around. In fact, as I followed the corridor further, there was no one at all. But I heard footsteps—so not exactly _no one_ then—and the voices I recognised immediately. Three of them: one deep, one raspy and higher pitched, one gravelly and with that distinctive speaking style.

Oh, dear. They'd sent me into the hornet's nest. I was a gazelle in the lions' den. A lamb in the house of wolves.

Out in public, on airplanes and the like, they were forced to be civil, but this was their space, their domain, and if they caught me wandering around, well... There was no one to prevent them from doing whatever the hell they wanted. It could also mean consequences not just for me but for Sami, since Ambrose apparently thought I was his sidekick.

I looked around for something I could duck behind so they wouldn't see me. I tried one door but found it locked. It was then I noticed a large wooden trolley, the ones that are designed to carry really really big things, with a solid base that had enough space between it and the ground that I thought I might be able to squeeze under it.

The footsteps were coming closer. If they turned the corner right now they'd see me. I dropped to my stomach and rolled under the trolley, and seconds later, I heard them.

"Who do you feel like taking out tonight?" It sounded like Seth.

"Cena's been getting on my nerves again lately," Roman offered. I could see their black boots and that was all as they stalked the hallway. Hopefully that meant they couldn't see me, either. I made my breathing as shallow and calm as possible.

"Nah," Ambrose said. "Cena just bores me now."

"Who then?" said Roman.

"Sami Zayn has eyes on my title, I know it. Plus, his little girlfriend stole my DDT."

"Vickie said we'd get suspended if we put our hands on any women, though," Seth said.

"We won't put our hands on her, but we will give her a scare," Dean said.

They had long passed me in the hallway now, so their voices were getting harder to hear. Oh, crap. It sounded like me and Sami were the Shield's targets tonight. I'd have to make a mental note to thank whoever (let's be honest, probably the Bellas) sent me off in this wayward direction tonight. It might have just saved our asses.

* * *

I stayed, I'm ashamed to admit, under that stupid trolley in the dark for about 10 minutes, making sure the Shield weren't going to come back this way. Eventually I crawled out, and was horrified to realise I was covered in dust. Well, at least there were no spiders. I tried to brush off as much as I could, but the dust still showed up on my navy hoodie.

Finding the divas locker room was now no longer my top priority—finding Sami was. It seemed urgent enough to warrant a jog. I raced past production assistants, trying to work out where all the superstars seemed to be headed.

"Hey," I said, catching up to Christian, who was walking with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. "I'm looking for Sami Zayn. Do you know where he might be or if you can point me in the direction of his locker room?"

"Yeah, sure," he said. "Hey, are you alright. Why were you running?"

"Uhh—" I said, unsure how to proceed. If somehow word got around that I knew about the Shield's planned attack… but this was _Christian_, after all, and he had been a target of the Shield before.

"I think the Shield might be planning to attack him tonight, so I have to warn him," I said in a hushed voice.

"You think? How could you know something like that?" he asked, looking a little confused. "I'm going to the locker room right now, just come with me."

"I, uhh, overheard them."

"What are you, some kind of super spy?"

"I wish. Just a newbie that the other divas like to play pranks on apparently."

"Yeah… that can happen. You'll get past it once you prove that you're not to be messed with."

"I plan on proving that tonight."

"Good," Christian nodded. We were outside the door to locker room B now. "I'll go check if he's in here."

"Thanks," I said.

Christian walked in and shut the door behind him. A few moments later, Sami appeared.

"Hey," he said, smiling. Then he saw my appearance and raised an eyebrow. "Do you know you're covered in dust?"

"Well aware. Listen Sami, I need to talk to you—privately."

"_Go for it Zayn!_" I heard a voice from within. I rolled my eyes and Sami smiled apologetically.

"Sure, let's go," he said, closing the door to the locker room behind him.

The hallway was busy, but we found a locker room that wasn't in use.

"What is it?" he said. "Does it have something to do with the dust?"

"Yeah, I guess so." I tried to brush some more off me as I talked. "I overheard the Shield talking just now. They're probably gonna attack you in your match tonight."

Sami laughed, which was an odd reaction. Hopefully he wasn't going to have any stupid suicidal ideas.

"Ambrose knows I'm after his title," he said, thinking for a moment. "You should stay back tonight."

"Yeah, he said that. And no, you'll need me out there."

"What? No, you'll just put yourself in danger."

I shook my head. "The Shield can't touch me unless they want a suspension. I don't plan on trying to be a hero, but if I'm there I can at least keep an eye out, and help get you out of there faster when they come out."

"Did they say if they were going to come through the crowd or the ramp this time?"

The Shield had, of late, been switching up their angles of attack. Just when you thought there was a clear escape path up the ramp, they'd come from there instead and be surrounding you in an instant.

"I don't know, but I think we should plan for either scenario. That's why you need me out there."

Sami nodded, though he still seemed reluctant.

"Okay," he said. "Well, if they come through the crowd, we'll leg it up the ramp. If they come from the ramp—"

"I'll find a clear path for us to jump the barrier and escape through the crowd."

"Right," Sami said. "Let's call that plan A, then. And escaping up the ramp will be plan B."

"Plan A, barrier. Plan B, ramp," I nodded. "For a minute I thought you were going to want to try and fight them."

"One on three? These guys took out the _Undertaker_."

"True."

"Thanks for the heads up, Georgie. I think you might have saved my bacon."

"We'll see, I guess."

To an extent, our plan depended on the Shield not knowing that we knew about _their_ plan to attack. If they knew we were going to scarper as soon as their music hit, well—they'd probably change their strategy again, to something we hadn't accounted for.

"What about your match? Do you think they'll try anything during that?" Sami asked.

"If there's one thing I know, it's that the Shield are all about choosing the most dramatic moment to appear. I don't think my match will concern them too much."

"Still, I'd feel better if I was in your corner tonight as well. You know Fandango will be in Summer's."

I sighed. "Oh yeah, him. Okay."

* * *

I was so focused on the Shield, I barely had time to think about my match with Summer Rae. I was practically in a daze as I walked out to the ring, accompanied by Sami. The crowd reaction seemed to grow bigger every week, but that was probably just the Zayn-factor. Fandango came out with Summer, but they didn't do their usual whole routine, which I was grateful for. The less exposure out here, the better.

The match didn't start out exactly as planned. I let Summer get the jump on me as I made the mistake of glancing around the arena for the Shield. I scrambled free, knowing I couldn't let her ground me or I'd be done for. I kicked her in the mid-section a few times and then, using the ropes for momentum, ran at her with a flying elbow, knocking her to the ground. I jumped on top of her, anger getting the best of me, and started scratching at her face.

"You like to claw people's eyes out, Summer?!" I screamed. "Huh?!"

She was screaming and trying to keep my hands off of her. I wasn't going to actually claw her eyes out—that's not what wrestling's about—but I needed to make sure she'd think twice before doing that to me again.

I got off her mid-section and moved down to work her legs, applying the sharpshooter to her long, skinny legs as she screamed some more, like they were going to snap. She was too close to the ropes, though, and soon she was able to drag herself close enough to force the break.

I let go of the hold, reluctantly, and stalked her as she slowly got to her feet, sizing her up for a DDT and then the Lions Gate. As she turned around however, my leg was pulled out from under me and I was dragged to the outside. Oh god, if this was the Shield, where was Sami?

I looked up, and it wasn't the Shield. It was Fandango. It seemed like a relief, except not really. I heard the bell ring as the referee disqualified Summer for outside interference.

Fandango was looking down at me as I tried to get to my feet to scramble away from him somehow. Sami came out of nowhere, jumping up on the apron and flying at Fandango, sending him crashing into the barricade. He helped me up and we started up the ramp.

I glared back at Summer in the ring and Fandango out on the side. I was irate. I needed to finish that match off. I had been_ dominant_. How was I ever going to show the rest of them not to mess with me if I only won via DQ?

Backstage, Sami tried to calm me down.

"Who are you even facing tonight?" I said angrily. "Fandango again?"

If that was the case, I could get my payback there.

"No, that's over with, me and him. Antonio Cesaro."

"Former champion. That's good for your title run at least."

"Yeah. Now, are you calm enough to go back to the locker room?"

"Probably not, but we'll see when I get there."

* * *

Like I expected, because I'd won via DQ and hadn't been able to give Summer the beating she deserved, the Bellas still seemed to think it was safe to mess with me.

"Watch out, she'll claw your eyes out!" Brie said to Nikki, covering her eyes then laughing with her sister. I tried to go into the bathroom to sort my hair out, but Natalya blocked me.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey?" I replied.

"I know you're new here and all, but I just wanted to let you know that the sharpshooter is my move."

"I'm sorry?"

Lance had taught me the sharpshooter as a staple submission, one every good technical wrestler should know. I didn't always use it—just when I wanted to target the legs.

"It's my move. You need to find another one," she said—all with a smile on her face, mind you, like it was a courtesy and not a demand, which was what it actually was.

"Fine," I said, eyeing her. "I know plenty more."

With that, I pushed past her to get into the bathroom. I was not in the mood to be pushed around by someone just because they were related to the Hart family right now, but I couldn't afford to make anymore enemies.

By the time I was ready to go out again, it was nearly time for Sami's match. I waited for him outside his locker room and we walked over to gorilla together, keeping a watchful eye out.

"Let's do this," I said. Sami nodded. His music hit and we walked out together.

Sami's match was a good one—a long one, as well. It made me nervous as he and Antonio worked each other down. The longer Sami was in the ring, the slower he was going to be to react when the Shield finally attacked. Ever the opportunists, I knew they wouldn't make a move until either right before the end of the match, or after one of them got the win.

When Sami finally got the pin, I could see that he was exhausted. Breathing heavy, he got to his feet as the ref held up his arm as the winner, and a moment later, just as I expected…

_Sierra, Hotel, India, Echo, Lima, Delta… SHIELD._

I ran up the steel steps, trying to get a better vantage point, wildly darting my eyes back and forth from the crowd, to the ramp, then back again. And there they were: Ambrose coming from behind the curtain, and Seth and Roman from either side of the ramp.

"Sami, Plan A! This way!" I yelled. Sami yanked his arm away from the ref and dove through the ropes furthest away from the ramp. I pointed to the clearest path, still standing on the steps. I watched as Sami jumped the barricade—the Shield were coming down either side of the ring now, Roman and Seth on the far side, Dean coming around the side we were trying to escape. Time to go.

I hopped the barrier myself and edged back to a safe distance as Dean stood in front of it, hands resting on it, muscles taut like he was going to jump over. He was staring at me intensely, flexing his jaw, head cocked. And then, bewilderingly, he smiled—a cheshire sort of grin—and the hairs on my arms stood up on end. He raised his hand up next to his face and gave a little finger wave.

"I'll see you later," he mouthed, now joined by his Shield compatriots.

If they were going to chase us through the arena they would have done so by now. I ran over to Sami, who was waiting at the first crowd break.

"Nice job," he said, still breathing heavy.

"Thanks," I said. "But I don't think it's over yet."


	4. D is for Dangerous

It wasn't over, not by a long shot. By flouting the Shield's first attack, we seemed to have only made them even angrier. The minute Sami and I walked into the arena for Monday Night Raw, we were ambushed.

I was looking down at my phone and didn't see them coming at us, but Sami did. He pushed me aside, sending me sprawling, as he took a fully-charged spear from Roman Reigns onto the concrete. From the spear, the three of them went straight into pummelling Sami with kicks and punches.

Getting up, there was nothing in my mind but pure adrenaline as I instinctively launched myself onto the back of Seth Rollins, wrapping my legs around his waist and squeezing, clawing at his face, hoping to get at least one of them off of Sami. Seth let out a raspy cry of pain as my knees dug into his ribs, backing up as he spun away from the melee. He tried to wrench my legs off of him, but I was locked in tight.

Suddenly I felt a pair of strong arms come under my arms and lift me by the shoulders away from Seth. My ankles slid apart and he was able to get free. I jerked my head up to see Dean Ambrose looking down at me, forearms pinning me tightly, holding me inches above the ground. I fought to get down, thrashing with all my might as he dragged me away from the fight.

"Don't struggle, princess, you'll turn me on," he said in a low growl, breath hot on my ear.

In a haze of sickness and rage, I attempted to elbow him in the gut and stamp down on his foot all in the one movement. I connected with his foot, but all my elbow met was a very padded utility vest.

"Or is that what you want?" he murmured softly into my ear, barely reacting to the impact of my foot, his grip on me still unwavering. Sick bastard.

As I went for another elbow, he took my wrist and wrenched it behind my back, causing me to cry out. His other arm was firmly locked around my mid-section now, pinning my free arm to my side. Both arms engaged in holding mine down, he used the side of his face to push mine into the position he wanted, which was to watch as Roman and Seth continued to beat down Sami.

"Come on now, just watch with me," he hissed into my cheek. I noticeably shuddered.

As roughly as he had my arm wrenched behind my back, his hand around my mid-section was lightly creeping over my skin, exposed as my t-shirt rode up from the struggle, leaving involuntary goosebumps everywhere. Feeling an instinctive desire to disobey his instructions to watch, I shut my eyes.

"Fuck. You," I whispered. Ambrose just laughed and pulled my body tighter against his, producing hot, aggressive friction between the fabrics of our clothes. As he tightened his grip on my wrist, I was acutely aware that my heart was pounding out of my chest.

Finally, some officials and superstars came over and were able to drag the 'Hounds of Justice' off of Sami, who was crumpled into a ball, holding his ribs. Christian came over to Ambrose and myself with a couple other officials, trying to get him to let me go. As he released my wrist I felt all the blood pump back.

"Did he hurt you?" Christian asked, positioning himself between Ambrose and me, but I could still see him over his shoulder, backing up, eyes on me, smiling that deranged smile again.

"No," I sighed. "He's not that stupid."

Ambrose had known just where to draw the line, to get away with restraining me without actually assaulting me and getting himself suspended.

"Sami…" I said, looking over.

"They're taking care of him," Christian said, stopping me from going over to where he was, surrounded by medical officers and referees. "If you don't need treatment, I'd suggest you go to the divas locker room where it's safe."

Yeah, the divas locker room—safe was one word to describe it, I guess.

* * *

I put my bag down and sat with my head in my hands, which I realised were still shaking after the attack, everything still running through my mind: Sami lying on the ground; the sickening sounds their boots made as they collided with his torso, and his head; the feel of Dean Ambrose flush up against my body, calling me princess… That one was extremely vivid, and I didn't know why.

"Aww, the rookie's upset," I heard someone coo. I looked up and it was, of course, a Bella.

"Can't handle it, I guess," the other one said.

They had _no _fucking idea… I jumped to my feet and closed the distance between us in the small locker room.

"You have no idea what the FUCK you're talking about," I snarled, getting right up in their faces. "Stay. Away. From me."

"You came over here and got all up in our business!" one twin said.

"Craaazy," said the other one.

And I lost it. I grabbed the one that called me crazy by the straps of her top and pushed her into her sister, sending them both flying backwards. The other divas stood up, looking like they were ready to jump in if I decided to escalate my attack.

"I'm fine," I said, spinning around to face them, putting my hands up. I slammed the door as I left.

* * *

With nowhere else to go, I went to medical to see how Sami was going. Through the window I could see that he was awake and sitting up, and the doctors were doing that thing with the little torch, checking for signs of concussion. He looked dazed, but he was talking, so that was a good sign.

I waved at him through the window and mouthed 'can I come in?' when he waved back. He nodded, so I opened the door.

"Are you okay?" I asked. He nodded.

"Ribs are a little sore," he said. He lifted up his shirt to reveal a number of bruises already starting to form.

"Jesus," I whispered, wincing in sympathy.

"Safe to say you won't be competing tonight, Mr Zayn," said the doctor.

"Ah… yeah, fair enough," Sami said, grimacing as the doctor applied pressure to his bruised ribs.

"Rest up and you should be fine by next week."

Sami rolled his eyes. 'Rest up' was not a phrase wrestlers liked to hear from doctors. He glanced behind my shoulder and motioned.

"Hey look, they're already replaying the attack," he said. "This oughta be good."

I spun around. Sure enough, on the medical room monitor they were starting up an 'earlier tonight' segment.

_"Now, we have some footage for you from earlier tonight," _Cole was saying. _"If we take you back to last Friday on Smackdown, it almost seemed like Sami Zayn and Georgia Rush _knew_ the Shield were going to attack. But as they arrived at the arena tonight, clearly they had no idea what was in store for them…"_

The footage rolled of Sami and I walking into the arena, when out of nowhere—god, the spear looked even worse from that angle. I had barely witnessed it while I was sprawled out on the concrete staring up at the roof.

And then there I was, leaping onto the back of Seth Rollins, giving it my all, and now Ambrose looks up from Sami to see why Seth has stopped kicking, and he's _smiling_, the bastard. I could see now from the footage how futile my struggle had been—the strength and size of Ambrose against my smaller frame.

King, Cole and JBL were talking over it now, commenting on the Shield's brutality, and my bravery. Well, Cole had called me brave. JBL had said there was a fine distinction between bravery and stupidity, and that I had crossed into the latter by attempting to fight the Shield. King said something inconsequential about my appearance, like fucking usual.

I looked back at Sami, and he was shaking his head.

"What were you thinking, Georgia?" he was saying. "Do you realise how stupid that was?"

"I was trying to help," I said. "Hey, at least only two of them got to attack you, since I distracted one of them. It could have been worse if I wasn't there."

"I'm not arguing with you about this," Sami said. "But if the Shield ever come after me again, please _don't _try to help."

I was stunned. How much had I helped Sami just this week? Helping him escape the Shield, helping him win his match against Fandango…

"Fine," I snapped. "I mean, clearly you don't need it."

"Georgia…" Sami called, as I stormed out of medical.

* * *

More excellent news awaited when I got back to the divas locker room. My bag was gone. The one with all my ring gear, my pads, my boots—everything. I had a rematch against Brie Bella tonight, to make up for the one they cheated their way out of last week. I needed to get ready, like now. I was already behind schedule because of the whole thing with Sami and the Shield.

"Okay, where is my stuff, you guys?" I said, speaking generally to the whole locker room. I noticed the Bellas were nowhere to be found.

"We told them not to take it…" Alicia Fox said slowly.

"Who?"

"Who do you think, honey?" Layla chimed in. The Bellas, then. That was one way to get out of a rematch.

"But you didn't try to stop them at all," I observed. I looked around at the remaining divas. Some of them shrugged; others just looked away. If I couldn't compete because I didn't have my stuff, I guess one of them would be taking my place. It was in their interests to do nothing.

"Do you know where they took it, at least?" I asked, exasperated. They shook their heads. Okay, fine. Treasure hunt. Fun.

I went into the bathroom first to make sure that they hadn't just dumped the contents of my bag into the toilet. That would have been fairly predictable. The bowls were empty, as were the sinks and the showers. That meant they'd taken it somewhere else, out of the locker room. I stormed out of the bathroom and then out of the locker room, determined but not entirely sure where to start looking.

As I scoured the halls and whatever open room I could find, I checked the clock on my phone—I was running out of time before my match. Getting desperate, I started approaching people.

"Excuse me, have you seen a set of identical twins running around with someone else's belongings?"

Most people politely shook their heads and went on their way.

The hallways were getting more deserted now, but maybe that's where they'd brought my bag—as far away as humanly possible, just like how they'd gotten the production assistant to send me as far away as possible.

I was running through my head a bunch of contingency plans, none of which seemed plausible. I couldn't wrestle in my current attire—skinny jeans, fitted t-shirt and ballet flats. Well, maybe the jeans and t-shirt, but flats—no way. It crossed my mind briefly that one of the divas might lend me their boots, but the likelihood of finding one that would agree, and them also being my size? I didn't fancy my chances.

I didn't want to go too much further into the empty part of the arena lest I find myself in Shield territory again, and besides… It was too late. Resignedly, I walked over to Vickie Guerrero's office and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" I heard the screech from within. I obliged.

"Georgia, why aren't you ready for your match?" Vickie demanded.

I sighed. "Because I don't have any ring gear. The Bellas stole it."

There was only a look of annoyance in her face, most likely because I'd screwed up her carefully laid plans.

"Fine. Someone else will take your place."

From behind Vickie, Brad looked at me sympathetically. By now, everyone was aware of what had gone on with the Shield earlier. I think it was the only reason Vickie accepted what I'd said instead of yelling my ear off.

* * *

Instead of competing, I watched Kaitlyn face off with Brie Bella at the monitors close to the stage. They tried to do their little switch-a-roo trick, but they messed it up this time and the ref caught them in the middle of their changeover. Kaitlyn capitalised and got the win, but directly after, Nikki jumped in the ring and launched herself at the weakened victor. Kaitlyn fought her off for a while, but as Brie regained her senses, she trapped Kaitlyn's feet and sent her to the ground. Now the two of them were on her, holding her down, thrashing her into the mat. Oh hell no.

I jumped up and dashed through gorilla. The sound guy saw me running past and hit my music as I busted through the curtains. I sprinted down the ramp and slid into the ring at full speed, pulling Nikki off of Kaitlyn and through the middle rope to the outside.

Suddenly realising she was alone on top of Kaitlyn, Brie thought better of the attack and joined Nikki on the outside. I walked over to Kaitlyn and extended my hand, which she took, and I pulled her up.

"Thanks," she said simply, before exiting the ring. I stood there a second longer, eyeing up the Bellas on the outside, and my music began to play again. Man, if I'd known I was going to be out in the ring tonight in my civvies maybe I would have worn something a little less casual.

I knew that my actions tonight ultimately wouldn't do much by way of proving that I wasn't to be messed around with, and I doubted if Kaitlyn would return the favor to me if I were in a similar situation. Still, it felt like the right thing to do. A little bit of justice, at least.

Back in the locker room, Kaitlyn approached me again.

"Hey, I know where your gear might be," she said. I raised an eyebrow. So she wouldn't tell me before, but now…?

"Where?" I asked.

"C'mon, I'll show you."


	5. Roll With It

**A/N: Small chapter compared with the last four! Thanks very much to all those who have reviewed/favorited/followed my little story so far. We still have a long way to go ;D**

* * *

Although I seemed to have earned Kaitlyn's begrudging respect, I couldn't say the same for the rest of the diva roster. The Bellas were still out to get me, which was fairly par for the course, but that Monday night at the Raw show I noticed Layla was colder to me than normal. Jeez, you win one person over just to lose another person's favor—you can't win in this place.

Normally I would sit down in the space next to Layla, but tonight she had her bag on the seat next to her. I would have moved it, but I remembered rule one: don't touch anyone else's stuff. But there were no more seats.

I sat on the floor. At this point, I didn't even what I'd done wrong this time.

Later that night, I found myself involuntarily glued to the monitor backstage as Sami took to the ring to tell the world that he was fighting fit again after the previous week's attack and was challenging Dean Ambrose to a title match, tonight.

_"EXCUSE ME!" _Vickie Guerrero interrupted as Sami tried fruitlessly to get Ambrose to respond to his challenge.

_"Sami Zayn… It's great to see you're back in action after last week's incident, but I am in charge of this show, and I can't just go about giving title shots to just anyone who asks for one. However, tonight, since you are so eager for revenge, you will be facing a member of the Shield."_

The crowd cheered, but the vagueness of her statement made me think there was something else to it.

_"But it won't be Dean Ambrose for his United States Championship. Tonight you will face Seth Rollins and, if you beat him, you'll get your title shot. At Summerslam."_

That was only a week away. The crowd roared again. I did a little fist-pump. This was great timing for Sami. Before the attack, he'd been on a great winning streak. If he was able to keep the streak going by beating Rollins tonight, he'd be in a perfect position to take that title away from that smug, sadistic, sexy bastard.

Did I say sexy? How'd that get in there?

Anyway, I wished him the best of luck, because I wasn't going to be out there. He didn't need my help, after all. I watched like everyone else, from the back, but I stayed near to the stage—I don't know why. I just wanted to be near, in case anything happened.

As Seth, accompanied by Roman, made his way down through the crowd, the announcers were discussing, of all things, little old me.

_"We're a little surprised to see that Georgia Rush is not out here tonight. She's been at ringside with Sami Zayn for the last couple of weeks," _Cole capitulated._ "And of course she was also implicated in the Shield's attack last Monday on Raw._ _Do you think that might have something to do with her absence tonight?"_

_"Absolutely, Michael," _JBL answered. _"I mean, we saw the footage of the two of them in the trainer's room after the Shield's attack and Zayn, quite rightly I think, told Georgia _exactly _how he felt about her trying to get involved!"_

Lawler chimed in. _"And whether it was her decision or Zayn's not to come out here for this match, I think it was the right call, and I'm glad to see the girl is following her common sense tonight and not her gut instinct."_

So the jury was in on that one, it seemed. I was stupid for attacking the Shield. Just a stupid little girl.

Sami and Seth were having a great match. It was a blast to watch, completely riveting, high-flying, fast-paced—it should have been the main event, in my own humble opinion. Roman was at ringside, but he wasn't getting involved… oh, I spoke too soon, didn't I?

Sami was getting on a huge run, landing several big moves in a row, and Seth was starting to look a little dazed, so Roman hopped up onto the apron and started yelling smack at the referee. As the referee went over and gestured wildly at Roman to try to get him down, Seth kicked Sami in the gut and irish-whipped him at the ropes… straight into the referee.

As Roman jumped out of the way, the ref toppled out of the ring and onto the outside. Free from the threat of disqualification, Roman tried to enter the ring, but Sami stopped him in his tracks with a big kick, using the ropes to swing himself upwards. Propelling himself up to the top rope, he turned on a dime and launched back onto Seth, swinging around for a devastating DDT, and the cover…

But the ref! Sami was going to lose his chance at the US title, and that was when I realized I was already on my feet. I sprinted up through gorilla, through the curtains and down to the ring, going straight to the referee.

"Hey, get up!" I yelled, shaking him, trying to pull him up. Ugh, lucky he was so small. I managed to drag him to his feet and draped his upper body onto the apron. Roman was getting to his feet now as I lifted the referee's legs up and rolled him into the ring. The ref lifted his head and crawled over to where Sami was pinning Seth now, and I suddenly found myself backed onto the apron with Roman Reigns in front of me.

"I dare you," I said as he towered in front of me, puffing up my chest, lifting my head as best I could to meet his eyes. "Enjoy your suspension."

The bell rang and Sami's music started to play, and I guess Reigns figured it wasn't worth it now, to put his hands on me, now that the match was already lost.

He sidestepped me and slid into the ring, and as I turned to look in at Sami, I saw that he had been joined by Dean Ambrose in the ring, getting his head kicked in for the second time in two weeks.

"Shit," I breathed, frozen in place.

This time I was conflicted in my own head, and I was sad to say, the talking heads on commentary, and what Sami had said last week, maybe had gotten to me a little. Maybe jumping into the middle of a Shield attack _was_ a bit of a stupid thing to do. I had been a thorn in their side for weeks now. What would it take for one of them to snap? One single slap? A kick? A suspension for Ambrose at this point would have been a good excuse not to defend his title against Sami next Sunday. Win-win, some would say.

The officials were quicker to action this week, almost like they expected the Shield were going to go for a repeat performance. Sami escaped with less of a beating, but they took him to the trainer's room anyway just as a precaution, myself following closely after.

He was lying on his side when I walked in, doctors pressing and prodding his ribs.

"Hey, if it isn't my guardian angel," he grinned.

"Some angel," I scoffed. "You got your ass kicked again."

"Yeah, but I won the match," he said. "And that means title shot. You gonna be in my corner at Summerslam?"

I smiled, feeling slightly vindicated.

"Wouldn't miss it."


	6. Up Against

I was honored to have been booked onto the Summerslam card, even if it was just the pre-show. I had been placed in an elimination fatal four-way, along with Brie Bella, Summer Rae and Kaitlyn, the winner of which would have a title shot against AJ.

Before I went out for my match, Sami caught me by the arm and asked if I wanted him to accompany me for my match. I shook my head.

"All allies/dance partners/sisters barred from ringside."

"Fair enough," Sami said. "Good luck."

He slapped me on the back as I grinned at him and made my way to the stage.

I didn't particularly want to be alone in the ring with Summer and Brie, but Kaitlyn had pretty much reserved her spot coming out last, as she was expected to get the biggest crowd reaction. Once we were all in the ring, I faced into the three of them, glancing across at Kaitlyn. She glanced back, nodding. The silent signal: until it's down to the last two, it's you and me together. I was okay with that.

The bell rang and I made a beeline for Summer Rae—I still didn't feel like I'd gotten enough payback for the scratches she'd left me weeks ago—while Kaitlyn took on Brie.

I ran at Summer and launched myself onto her with a Lou Thesz press, kneeling over her chest as I landed blow after blow to her head. Too many punches though and I lost my balance, allowing Summer to roll me over. I struggled under her, managing eventually to get my knee to her chest, shoving her backwards.

I climbed to my feet and backed into the corner, moving up to the second rope. She came at me and I leapt off, clotheslining her all the way down to the ground, landing on my butt with her. I rolled her over for the pin and the ref began to count. 1… 2… kick out. I smiled on my knees beside her. I didn't think that would be enough, and truly, I wanted to keep punishing her.

I looked over and saw that Kaitlyn had Brie in a corner. I dragged Summer to her feet, kneeing her in the stomach a few times before calling out.

"Kait, move!"

Kaitlyn spun around and dove out of the way of the corner as I irish-whipped Summer straight into Brie Bella. Kaitlyn circled around to near me. As they both lay there dazed in the corner, she and I both had the same idea. She sprinted into the corner—double spear! The bodies of Brie and Summer were sprawled on the ground in the corner.

"Mind if I take Brie for a bit?" I said to Kaitlyn as she got up.

"Be my guest," she said, ducking down to pick up Summer. I grabbed Brie and dragged her limp body to a different part of the ring, smiling down at her as I brushed my hair out of my face. I had this strange desire to make her scream.

I dropped to the mat and laid across Brie's back, picking up her arm and pulling it back across her own body as well as my own, locking her into the Fujiwara armbar. She started to shake her head, struggling under me to relieve the pressure on her shoulder and her pectoral muscles. I felt her start to move out from under me, so I lifted my butt off the canvas, putting myself into a bridging position, pressing my weight down on her.

Now she was screaming. And tapping. Her palm was slapping down on the mat fast and hard. The bell rang.

"Brie Bella has been eliminated as a result of a submission!" Lilian announced to the cheers of the crowd. After a few more seconds, I finally let up from the hold. Brie grabbed her shoulder and rolled away, out of the ring. Bye, bye, bitch.

I turned to see Kaitlyn and Summer Rae. Kaitlyn had things well under control. She was minutes away from a pin, if that. I decided to let her handle things. I went to the corner and hopped up, perching myself on the top rope. Let Kaitlyn tire herself out with Summer while I recuperated.

Another spear to Summer Rae and she was down for the count. And then there was two. I hopped down as Kaitlyn waited in the centre of the ring for me. I thought for a minute she might try to spear me, too, but she was smarter than that. I was all ready to jump out the way. We started it like it was the beginning of the match again, locking horns, and I was pushed back into the corner straight away by Kaitlyn's superior strength.

We fought it out for a few minutes, both of us getting a few attacks in each. I felt like I had speed on Kaitlyn, so I tried to use that. I knocked her to the ground with a drop kick and then got to my feet, stalking her as she got up slowly. I wanted the Lions Gate for the win—it's all over, sunshine.

"LOOK OUT, IT'S THE SHIELD!" Summer screeched from the outside. I looked to her, and she was pointing up at the ramp. I spun around, eyes wide open—what was this?

But there was no one there. And their music wasn't playing either. Then, suddenly, I was falling back as a hand reached up through my legs. Stunned, I tried to struggle, but Kaitlyn was holding me down with all her might. 1… No, not like this… 2… This isn't fair… 3… Too late. I'd lost.

I got to my feet straight away as Kaitlyn's music started up and the ref held her arm up. She looked at me and shrugged. I sighed and put my hands on my hips, nodding, acknowledging her victory, then rolled out of the ring. Boy, I just keep getting tricked, don't I?

* * *

"Hey, Georgie, sorry about your match," Sami said, approaching me as I hung my head in my hands, legs dangling over the side of some crate parked in the hallway outside of his locker room.

"Thanks—hey maybe at least one of us can win tonight," I replied, attempting a smile.

The challengers entered the ring first—that was us. The energised crowd was 100% behind Sami, and so was I. Then the Shield's music hit, to a mixture of cheers and booes. Some people like the Shield, it seems. I'm not sure what it was that appealed to them—I mean, they were good-looking, and they had mindblowing matches, but their attitude and their morals left a lot to be desired.

As Dean Ambrose hopped the barrier I put my hand on Sami's shoulder and, without thinking, leaned up to kiss him on the cheek—for luck—then left him in the ring alone. I walked down the steel steps at the back of the ring as Dean walked up the front ones. Friends out, foes in.

Tell you what, I thought Sami's match was Seth had been pretty amazing, but seeing him in the ring with Dean Ambrose blew that all out of the water. Dean's style was a more brawling one than Seth's, which meant Sami had to keep on the move and on his feet at all times. Once Ambrose had you on the mat, you were all but finished.

At one point, Sami got into a real bad spot, and I was fairly afraid that he wasn't just going to not walk out of Summerslam with the title—he might not walk out of here at all. Ambrose was going to work on Sami's right shoulder—a clever target to choose, since Sami would need the full motion and strength in that shoulder to deliver his signature DDT from the ropes.

Sami was locked into some kind of painful shoulder submission maneouvre, one I hadn't seen the likes of before, and was inching slowly towards the edge of the ring in the hopes of getting a rope break. He was only three feet away, but it might as well have been a hundred miles at this point. I moved around to the side where Sami was trying to get to the ropes and made myself heard.

"Come on, Sami! Don't you dare submit!" I cried, remembering to clean up my language considering we were on live TV right now. I started to clap my hands together, willing to crowd to join with me, and they did, which seemed to energise Sami.

Slowly getting to his feet, he was able to get a few good blows in before trying for the ropes to get a bigger momentum move going, but Ambrose shadowed him, getting a knee to the gut for his troubles. As Sami doubled over, Ambrose took hold of him by the head and, just for a second, looked in my direction, before getting a run up and sending him careening over the top rope.

I was about to clear out of the way for Sami to go sprawling onto the outside, but it wasn't necessary, as Sami gripped the ropes twisted his body in mid-air, landing on his feet on the apron. Ambrose, cocky as he was prone to being, took a second too long to realise that a counter had occurred, giving Sami enough time to swing both legs up and kick Ambrose square in the temple.

"Yes!" I screamed, punching the air.

As Ambrose stumbled back, Sami propelled himself up onto the top rope and launched himself at Ambrose, swinging around for a hugely devastating DDT. Now I was going ballistic on the outside, along with the crowd. My heart was racing as I spun around wildly, looking for signs of the Shield coming to interfere and score a DQ loss and title retention for Ambrose, but they never came.

Sami crawled over, wincing as he used his right arm to lift up Dean's leg for the count. I held my breath as the ref counted 1, 2, and 3.

The referee lifted Sami's left arm up in victory as he kept his right clutched gingerly to his mid-section. I slid into the ring as Ambrose rolled out and got to my feet, tackle-hugging him around the mid-section. He laughed and patted me on the back. I pulled back, ready to tell him congratulations, but as I did he caught me, just barely, with his bad arm around my waist.

I was caught off-guard as he pressed his lips to mine—not just a momentary smack of jubilation either, but a long, pressure-filled, fully-fledged kiss. With my forearms pinned against his chest and his bottom lip lightly dragging up and collecting mine, it took a little while before I became aware of the crowd reaction, which was… insane.

I backed out of the kiss, smiling unsurely, glancing at the hollering crowd.

"Sami…" I began.

"Ah, sorry," he said, scratching at the back of his head, grin unwipable from his face. "Got carried away."

"No kidding," I laughed. "Congratulations, man, now let's blow this joint before the cavalry arrives."


	7. Where Is Your Boy Tonight?

Between the Pay Per View and Raw the next night, I didn't get the chance to talk to Sami about the fact that he'd kissed me in the ring after his title victory. I figured he ought to be the one to bring it up anyway. I didn't know what to make of it, honestly, because I know what it's like to have so much adrenaline running through you after a big victory, all that glee—it might have meant nothing at all.

It was probably a good thing that Sami wasn't going to be at Raw tonight though—Ambrose had really worked his shoulder over good—at least until I could work out what _I _wanted the kiss to mean, if anything.

It was kind of like my first night all over again, in that I was all alone again. The divas locker room was still not a good place for me—I could barely spend any time in there. The Bellas were insufferable. The other divas looked at me with pity because I'd fucked up my match, because I'd been scared of the Shield. I had another match tonight against Summer, and I was looking to take out some of my anger on her. Revenge of the Georgia, Part Deux.

Unable to complete my usual stretching routine in the locker room, I was relegated to a quieter corner of the arena. I was in the bridge position, forehead touching the cold concrete, when a pair of big, black, upside down boots planted themselves in front of my face. Shit. I pressed my hands into the concrete and pulled myself upright, turning around to face Dean Ambrose.

"Impressive," he said, very purposefully looking me up and down with those icy blue eyes. Creep.

"Not really," I said, warily. "What do you want?"

"Good luck tonight," he said, sniffing and casually looking around like he'd just asked me for the time of day.

"What?"

"Good luck," he repeated.

"Oh yeah?" I tilted my head to the side. What was this game of his, wishing good luck to the person who had a small, but not insignificant, hand in him losing his title the previous night?

"Yeah."

"But you're the bad guy."

"You don't need to tell me, princess."

I folded my arms in front of my chest. "I know you know my real name, so why don't you use it, Ambrose?"

"Ah, yeah, _Georgia on my Mind_," he sang in his gravelly voice—he was no Ray Charles, that's for sure. I couldn't work out why he was so oddly, creepily cheery. I glanced down the corridor, making sure there was still someone in view, just in case anything weird went down.

"Is there something else you want, Ambrose?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do have something I want you to do for me. Do you promise to do it?"

"That depends a lot on what it is."

"I need you to deliver a message to your boyfriend."

"Not my boyfriend. What's the message?"

"Tell him," Ambrose said, waggling his finger, stepping a little closer to me now. "Tell him I'm coming to take my belt back. Tell him I'm not just gonna take his belt. I'm gonna take _everything _he cares about. Starting tonight."

The heck did that mean, 'starting tonight'? Sami's not even here. He turned to walk away.

"Ambrose," I said, stopping him in his tracks.

"What?"

"You're…" I started, momentarily losing my ability to speak as he turned back, hair obscuring his intense blue eyes. "I've seen you in the ring. You could compete for the World Heavyweight or even the WWE Championship. Why do you even care about the US title?"

"I don't like it when people take what's mine."

* * *

It was probably only half an hour later that I saw on the monitors the Shield kick the absolute shit out of Sheamus backstage. I guess with Sami gone they still needed someone to attack. Maybe they had a thing for redheads lately. I made a mental note to warn Heath Slater to dye his hair.

Whatever, I couldn't be thinking about the Shield now, or Dean Ambrose's creepy threats. I sent Sami a message relating to him Ambrose's message.

_Ambrose says he's coming for your belt and, his words, everything you care about_

I got a reply seconds later.

_Fun_

* * *

Walking down to the ring for my match with Summer Rae, who was awaiting me, I noticed a few signs in the crowd with my name on them—that was a first! They mostly read 'Sami & Georgia' with love hearts and other variations on that theme. It was quite mortifying.

I wasted no time getting into the ring and immediately spear-tackling Summer Rae to the ground. It was actually fairly play-by-play of what had gone on between us last night—sorry to the fans who came to see something different, but beating Summer Rae down was my number one priority right now, over and above entertaining the crowd. When I got her with my DDT she went down like a sack of bricks, and I practically had to drag her to her feet to lock my arms around her for the Lions Gate. She went over my head as I bridged up to pin her.

That was too easy, Summer... I rolled out from under her and stood over her, looking at her with disdain. I wished she'd put up more of a fight, really. To add insult to injury, I did an exaggerated little dance flourish, then bowed for the crowd, grinning as the cameras flashed.

* * *

All in all, pretty good night, I thought to myself as I walked out of the arena, duffel bag in tow. My footsteps echoed all around the parking lot, and I could hear someone else's echoing, too. They were quickening, but it was hard to tell where they were coming from because of the acoustics of the damn place. It wasn't until I felt my hair pull and I was yanked aside that I realized I was in trouble.

I was face-to-face with Fandango, and he was mad.

"Not only do you disrespect me," he snarled, "but you mock Summer, and you mock our _dancing_."

He was pulling my hair down now, hard. My eyes watered in pain as I grabbed onto his wrist, trying to mitigate some of the pressure.

"But now your champion isn't here to save you, is he?"

I saw a flash of movement behind Fandango's shoulder and then a sick crunch as Fandango's eyes flew open and then he crumpled before me, sliding down my body before collapsing on the floor. I looked down, then up at my savior, standing there with a two-by-four plank of wood in his hand, all 6'4" of him with lean muscle, messy blonde hair and blue eyes. Dean Ambrose had saved my ass from Fandango. But why?


	8. Auto-Pilot

I elected not to tell Sami about what had transpired in the parking lot between Fandango, Ambrose and myself. I didn't know quite what it all meant, and Sami already had enough to worry about tonight, considering that his shoulder still wasn't fully healed from the Pay Per View. He had no choice but to compete. That's what champions have to do unfortunately, and Ambrose was, I hated to say, entitled to his rematch, whether Sami was fighting fit or not.

First up though, I was scheduled to compete against Alicia Fox. A bit of a nothing match, but okay. Summer Rae last week, Alicia the next—pretty soon I'd be getting a run on for the Diva's Championship, and that I was okay with.

Alicia was a pretty good opponent, which allowed me to get in a good rhythm with her, anticipating, dodging, attacking. I went into full auto-pilot, which I hadn't been able to do for a while—to be able to block out any sort of emotion and purely wrestle. It was fun. Unfortunately, my auto-pilot didn't seem to have been listening weeks ago when Natalya told me not to use 'her' sharpshooter, because I managed to lock it in on Alicia, and she tapped almost immediately.

To be honest, I'd forgotten about the whole thing. I was in the corner, celebrating my win to the crowd, when Natalya's music hit, and she walked down, Great Khali and Hornswaggle in tow. She took a microphone and came into the middle of the ring to face me.

"Georgia, Georgia, Georgia," she said, smiling at me sweetly. "Congratulations on your win. But it looks like you didn't listen to me—don't you remember? I told you not to use my sharpshooter. I meant it."

She wasn't smiling anymore, but neither was I. I didn't feel remotely threatened by Khali and Hornswaggle behind her—I could easily outmaneouvre the cumbersome Khali and I'm pretty sure I could have punted Hornswaggle into the crowd with a good enough kick.

I nodded at her words, conceding expression on my face, and held my hand out, asking for the microphone. She gave it, satisfied smile reappearing.

"Natalya, despite what you may think, the sharpshooter does not belong to you, or any of the Hart Family for that matter," I spoke, gesturing my arms out wide. "Who are you to tell me what moves I can and can't do? Why is _your _status so high above _mine_? I mean, it's sad really… to think you used to be a serious competitor, and now you're just hanging out with a circus freakshow."

For that line I received a big old stinging slap to the cheek, knocking my head sideways.

"Okay, alright," I said, nodding rapidly, holding my hand to my face.

I dropped the mic and punched her square in the jaw, stunning her so that I could quickly bend down and flip her legs up. I stepped between them and twisted her around, locking her precious sharpshooter in on her. She screamed as Khali waddled over and waved his giant hands in the air, yelling "LEDGO". I think he meant let go. Sorry, Khali, didn't catch that.

I felt a set of tiny arms around my neck. Hornswaggle had jumped up and latched himself onto my back.

"Get off!" I screeched, and Natalya wriggled out of the sharpshooter. I lurched my upper body forward and Hornswaggle flew over my head and onto the mat in front of me, landing on his back.

I exited the ring, leaving Natalya and company in there, Khali seeing to her on the ground as she held her knee, grimacing in pain. If I was a betting woman, I knew the match Vickie would be making for the next edition of Smackdown.

* * *

I went to Sami straight away after the match. Divas locker room? No thank you. When he saw me, he burst out laughing. I scowled at him.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, patting me on the back. "You putting Nat in the sharpshooter was pretty funny, but the Hornswaggle thing? That was priceless."

"Glad you could get a giggle out of it," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Okay, it may be a bad time, but I've been meaning to talk to you," Sami said as we slowly walked towards the stage. There was a little bit of time to kill until his match, but not much.

"What about?" I asked.

Sami just gave me a look, eyebrows angled upwards. The kiss.

"Oh…"

"Yeah, I'm sorry I took you by surprise like that," Sami said. "But to tell you the truth, I'd wanted to do that for a while."

I blushed, quite furiously.

"I thought maybe after I keep my title tonight I could take you out for a drink so we can talk properly?" Sami said, turning to me, smiling, looking for an answer. Oh, boy. I smiled back at him—I couldn't help it. His grin was infectious.

"Let's see about keeping that title first, eh?"

I didn't let on to Sami, but I was nervous for him. I really was. Sami hadn't been there in front of Dean Ambrose, seeing the look in his eyes as he told me he was coming for him, and his title, and everything else apparently. They way he had said it, something in the back of my mind just sort of _believed _him.

The doctor had recommended Sami strap his shoulder for the match, but he had declined, arguing that the tape was just a red cape for the raging bull to charge at—a neon sign saying 'Attack here!'

You couldn't argue with his logic from a strategic standpoint, but if I knew anything about Ambrose, he would have already studied the tape of his defeat over and over again. He would know which shoulder was giving Sami trouble. He would already have his own target over it.

I kissed Sami on the cheek again as I left the ring before the match's start, earning a big grin from him and cheers from the crowd. Then they were off and… boy, do I hate being right. The first move Ambrose made was for Sami's shoulder, grabbing his arm, twisting it around, pulling, tightening… I hoped he had a plan to protect himself.

Sami made numerous attempts to mount a comeback, but every time he was about to gain the upperhand, Ambrose would just smack him right back down, working more on the shoulder. I was standing in front of the commentary table, hands on the back of my neck, stressing the fuck out because Sami was going to lose his title after only having it for a little over a week.

I was whispering under my breath 'No, no, no, no, no' as Ambrose lined Sami up for his signature headlock driver and planted him facefirst into the mat. It was all over—no way Sami was kicking out of that with a bad shoulder. But Ambrose wasn't pinning him. He didn't even roll him over onto his back.

Ambrose picked up Sami's limp right arm and bent him back into the same shoulder submission he'd used on Sami in their Summerslam match—the one that had done the damage to his shoulder to begin with. He was pulling his shoulder back to an unnatural angle and Sami seemed to only be slightly aware of where he was right now. He was yelling out, his left hand hovering above the mat. No, Sami, come on…

I let out a long-held breath as he tapped, hanging my head. The bell rang, but Dean didn't let go, and if Sami was yelling before, he was _screaming_ now—I'd heard him in a fair few painful submissions, but nothing like this. I rushed into the ring.

"You won, let him go," I pleaded.

The referee was yelling at Ambrose, too, and officials were streaming into the ring. That was when I heard it pop. Something in Sami's shoulder. Shit. Ambrose let go after that, standing up and looking down at Sami writhing in pain as the officials saw to him.

I was not involved in the huddle around Sami—got to give the professionals room to move—but I wasn't leaving, no way. I looked over at Ambrose, who was admiring his handiwork. When he glanced up and caught me glaring at him, I instinctively turned away. The officials were moving Sami out of the ring now—I heard one of them mention the word 'hospital'. So much for going out for that drink after.

I moved towards the edge of the ring to follow the officials back with Sami, but my arm got caught by Ambrose's hand.

"Not sticking around for the after party?" he murmured, close to my ear.

"Let. Go. Of me," I seethed. "I don't care if you did save me from Fandango last week, you just injured the only friend I can count on in his place."

There was a smirk on his face now, and he leaned in closer to me, so none of the cameras or microphones could pick up what he said.

"You might not call me a friend, and princess, I don't wanna be one, but you _can_ count on me."

He pulled back to read my confused expression. What on earth did that even mean?


	9. Gravity

Smackdown came around and, of course, I was alone, Sami having been sent home to recuperate. The day before, he had sent me a message with the diagnosis, along with a picture of him, sitting at home on his couch, giving a thumbs up to the camera with his arm in a sling. Ambrose had separated Sami's shoulder with his shoulder hold, and the doctors had said it would be six weeks before he could return and exact his revenge.

Just as I expected, a match had been scheduled between Natalya and myself tonight and, because of the nature of our dispute, Booker T had decided to make it a submission match. I still got deathstares in the locker room, but people at least weren't messing with me as much. Maybe they were finally seeing that I was here to do business.

I walked out to the ring first, slapping the hands of some fans on the way down. As I waited in the ring, the image on the Titantron switched to a video of Natalya walking with Khali and Hornswaggle, which was not usual. Then out of nowhere—black flashed across the screen, and the sound of someone…roaring? Khali had just been speared into a catering table by Roman Reigns.

Hornswaggle and Natalya both jumped out of the way as Dean jumped in on Khali, then Seth attacked by delivering a sickening ninja-like kick to the head of Hornswaggle, sending him sprawling. Jeez. Little dude was not having a good week. The three of them, together now, continued to beat on Khali as Natalya stood there, ready in her ring gear, horrified expression on her face.

Dean pulled back from the attack and got up in her face. She was positively cowering under him.

"Don't you have a match to get to?" he snarled. She ran off, and a few seconds later her music hit.

The crowd was honestly too stunned to react much to her coming down the ramp, and so was I. She looked shaken. I imagine that's how I probably looked when the Shield attacked Sami for the first time. As she got in the ring, I went over to see if she was okay—I don't know, I know she was my opponent and everything, but I just wanted to… She slapped my hand away as I reached out to her.

"This is your fault," she said, teary-eyed. The accusation was like a punch to the gut. This was in fact the second time that Dean Ambrose had targeted someone that had crossed me: first Fandango, and now Natalya's freak parade.

"Fine," I said. "Let's wrestle."

She nodded and assumed the guard position.

My strategy for the submission match was simple. The circumstances of poor Sami's injury had given me the idea that I would work the shoulder. I figured it would be a good area to work on Natalya because, god love her, her strategy was going to be predictable as all hell. She'd picked this fight because I'd used 'her' move: the sharpshooter. I wonder what she was going to try to make me tap out with tonight. One guess, no prize.

If I could get to her shoulder before she could pick me up for the sharpshooter, it might be weakened enough so that she can't even do it, or at least make it a lot easier for me to break out of it.

Turns out, I was overprepared, if anything. Natalya was so distracted by the attack on her friends that I was able to easily apply one hold after the other, chaining them together, keeping her off-balance and in pain. Her attempt at the sharpshooter was half-hearted, and I easily rolled forward and under her to counter it.

In the end, she just couldn't take it anymore. Bent over, I grabbed her wrist and stepped over her arm, twisting in mid-air so that Natalya landed her back, locked into a cross armbreaker. After the impact, it was only seconds before she tapped.

I stood above her, referee holding my arm up in victory. I shook my head and left the ring, hoping this would be the end to our conflict. From now on, I would use the sharpshooter however and whenever I liked.

As for the Khali and Hornswaggle situation… Well, I had to go see a man about staying the hell out of my business.

* * *

Turns out, if word gets around backstage that you're looking for the Shield, or any member of the Shield, they usually find you quick enough themselves. The arena was emptying slowly as I waited out in a random storage area near where the Shield were last sighted (I had on reputable sources). I was sitting on a crate which may or may not have contained pyrotechnics. I hoped not.

"Liked your armbreaker out there," Ambrose said, approching me on the crate. "Brutal. Heard you were looking for me?"

"Yeah, and, uhh—thanks," I said, standing up instinctively. "I need you to do something for me, Ambrose. Do you promise to do it?"

I was purposefully mimicking his words from last week. He cocked an eyebrow at me, and paired it with a smirk.

"That depends what it is."

"I need you to stop interfering in my business."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Khali and Hornswaggle? Tell me that was just a coincidence that you attacked them right before Natalya had a match with me. Oh, and Fandango? I mean, how exactly did you show up at_ just_ the right moment exactly?"

"Aren't you grateful, Georgia?"

"I won't deny that you helped me both times, but I don't remember asking for it. What are you trying to do?"

"Maybe I just wanted to help. I'm a helpful guy."

"No, you're not," I retorted. "You're a bad guy."

This was just like our last conversation. He moved closer to me at that, backing me against the crate. I felt my heartrate climbing as he pierced me with that look, eyes hooded and partly obscured by a wet mop of hair.

"One of these days you're gonna realize there's no such thing, princess. We're just the ones having the most fun."

Moving slower than I'd ever seen him, he smoothly reached a hand out to my waist and slipped his thumb into the waistband of my pants. His touch was like ice on my bare skin, freezing me in place. It was like he was draining everything out of me with that one point of contact—all of my moral resolve, my willpower, all of it gone—and all I wanted, with the silence passing between us, was for his thumb to probe just a _little _further…

"Something about you tells me you want to have some fun, too," he added, and before I knew it I had gotten my wish as the rest of his hand slid into my pants. My mouth was hanging open in an expression of shock and outrage but my eyes were clearly giving him the signal to go ahead. He stared straight at me as his finger found its way through my folds and then, for the briefest of moments, dipped inside of me. I managed to keep from making any noise, but my body twitched involuntarily, like I'd been punched straight in the gut.

"Oh yeah," he breathed, hissing softly through his teeth. "Now I know you do. Come find me when you're ready. Room 304."

I moaned softly at the loss of pressure as he removed his hand from my pants, and left me there, a bundle of heat and frustration.

* * *

I was in the shower back at the hotel, maybe an hour or so after my encounter with Dean Ambrose, leaning against the cool tiles, trying unsuccessfully to calm myself. I found it thoroughly distressing that I had been unable to come down after what Ambrose had done to me at the arena. Okay, full disclosure: I haven't had a boyfriend in about a year, so it's been… you know… a while. When he'd touched me, it was like he had activated something, found an on-switch, but I couldn't find the same one to turn it back off.

Well, maybe… I trailed my hand down my stomach until I found the soft curls of my own pubic hair. When I brushed my fingers over my sensitive bundle of nerves, I almost whimpered. I may as well, I thought, starting to circle myself in the familiar rhythm. Anything to get rid of this feeling.

I orgasmed in a minute flat, sliding my hand down the tiled shower wall as I rode through wave after wave, sighing at the beautiful release. Conscious that I'd been in the shower for a long time now, I turned the water off and wrapped a towel around my body, drying myself off.

I sat down on the bed in my towel, but I still had this weird, frustrated feeling in the pit of my stomach. It made me want to jump out of my own skin. Why hadn't the orgasm helped? Why hadn't it been enough?

I slumped backwards onto the bed, muscles still tensing all over my body, mind swimming with the memory of Dean Ambrose sliding his hand into my underwear. I was angry—that he could have had this effect on me, when I didn't want him to. My mind and my body were pulling me in two different directions… and my body was telling me to go to room 304.

Okay... Okay. If I was going to do this, first step: get dressed. If the night was going to way that I kind of wanted it to go, cute underwear was definitely a must. Every girl's got a favorite, and mine were black boycuts, with tiny polkadots and beige lace running down to small bowties over each thigh. As for outerwear, black loose cotton shorts would have to do, paired with a black t-shirt. Lots of black tonight—fitting considering where I was sneaking off to. I slid my room key and phone into my shorts pocket and slipped out of my room.

I lingered outside of the door with the big brass numbers 304 for a couple of seconds before knocking quietly, the soft padding of footsteps coming from behind the door. I glanced up at the little spyhole, wondering if Dean was looking through it at me right now, smirking to himself. Jerk.

When the door opened I nearly ran away. I've made a huge mistake, I thought. Sexual frustration for one night isn't worth the moral compromise, surely. However, I found myself caught in place at the sight of Dean Ambrose leaning against the doorframe, shirtless, blue jeans hanging off his hips.

"Well hello," he said, pushing the door wide open to let me inside. "How'd I know you'd end up here tonight?"

"Probably because you're an overly self-assured cocky son of a bitch," I said as he closed the door behind him.

"Cocky, huh?" he said, coming over to stand behind me, hands running over my hips. I shuddered as his lips brushed over my earlobe. He chuckled lowly next to my ear as I swallowed, hard.

"You're just feeding my ego, sweetcheeks," he purred.

Every muscle in my body was taut, every hair follicle standing on end. Every inch of my skin was craving to be touched by him. If he didn't do something soon, I'd…

I turned around and was met with the sight of his bare torso pressed up against me, and I baldfacedly stared down at him. I tentatively ran my hands over his shoulders and down his pecs. As I brushed over his nipples to let my hands come to rest on his well-defined abs he let out a little growl.

"You just gonna stand there staring at me?" he coaxed, walking me over to the bed.

He put his hand to my chest and pushed me, gentler than I'd ever imagined possible from him, down onto the bed. I bit my bottom lip as Dean crawled onto the bed, hovering above me, knees coming to rest between my legs. His hands slid up underneath my t-shirt, inching the fabric up and over my bra. I sat up for him to pull it over my head. Before my upper body could come back into contact with the mattress, he slipped a hand behind my back and unhooked my bra, straps coming loose over my shoulders.

"Gee, and we haven't even kissed yet," I said, blushing slightly as he tugged the bra down and tossed it aside. His eyes were dragging over me as he ducked down to my chest.

"Kissing is overrated," he muttered, closing his mouth, hot and wet, over my nipple. I let out a little moan and dove a hand into his hair, arching my back. He was trailing kisses down my stomach now as his hands worked my shorts down, and I was writhing like crazy underneath him, arcing like electricity at every touch.

"Keep still or you won't get your happy ending, princess," he ordered. I obeyed, ceasing my movement as he kissed my pubic bone lightly over the top of my underwear. He kept his eyes on me as he finally pulled my underwear off.

If anything, I was more sensitive after getting off in shower. I cried out when he pressed his tongue up against me, legs instinctively widening, head tilting back. Just that one flick had made me see stars—I was almost afraid of what was to come. He dipped down again, this time drawing his tongue the full length of my slit, which was wide open for him.

"Oh, fuck, Dean!" My words were strangled as they came out. I peered down at him, wide-eyed, and he was looking right back up at me, watching my reactions. It made sense. Ambrose loved to inflict pain on people—it seemed he had the same relationship with pleasure. This was a sweet kind of torture.

He started into a rhythm, rolling lips and tongue over me, nipping and sucking, briefly dipping inside with his tongue before paying more attention to my clit. I was gripping the sheets with every bit of strength I had left in me as he pinned my legs to the bed—at his mercy.

"I could eat you out all night, do you know that?" he muttered, saliva glistening on his bottom lip.

"I could let you," I moaned in response.

"Don't tempt me, baby. How much more do you want?" he asked, keeping his tongue working between words.

"I want… you," I mumbled, feeling myself go red saying the words out loud, giving acknowledgement to my desire for this man—this _bad guy_.

"What was that?" he drawled, climbing the length of my body, nuzzling into my neck. "I couldn't hear, cuz I was buried so deep in your pussy."

I've never been one for much dirty talk but everything Dean said and the way he said it was so perfectly hot and filthy, it sent daggers to my core.

"I want you," I breathed, hands releasing the sheets and fumbling down below my hips to the button and zipper of his jeans. "Fuck me…please."

"Excellent manners," he growled, wrenching open his pants himself. They were gone in an instant. "Please tell me you're on some form of birth control."

"I am on some form of birth control," I assured him, getting impatient. The pill—excellent for skipping those pesky periods when you have an important match coming up.

The longer he held himself at my entrance, the wilder I became, moving my hips against him, trying desperately for more friction, more everything. But he was just hanging there above me, enjoying my struggle. The thought crossed my mind that it might hurt, my first time after so long, but when he finally entered me a flood of tension was released from my body, like a void had been filled. Dean, though, seemed unprepared for how tight I was. He let out a swallowed, strangled sound, and stayed completely still inside of me as our pelvises rested together.

"You okay?" I said, smirking. He'd spent this whole time being so smug about how he could make me feel and how much he could make me want him—he'd forgotten just how fucking good it was going to feel once he was inside me.

"Wow, how tight are you?" he said, still not moving, mouth hanging ajar. I angled my hips up slightly, letting him slip further inside of me.

"Jesus, stop," he gasped.

"No," I said, rocking my hips, mewling at the slight friction, but it wasn't enough. It never was.

"Fuuuck," he said, pulling out then grinding back in. I moaned as he slid back into me, wrapping my legs tightly around his back. He shifted a hand down to my ass, pulling me upwards into him as he started to get a slow rhythm going, softly cursing and hissing. His facial expressions—I hadn't seen anything like them—pure sex and ecstasy.

He lifted me up and shifted me further onto the bed. With the extra space, he was able to find a new angle, somehow deeper—_impossibly _deep.

"Fuck, oh my god, right there," I muttered, helplessly panting against his shoulder as he smacked into me with more force. So close.

I clenched hard around him as I went off the deep end—and I swear I blacked out for a moment—incoherently whimpering, eyes closed. It wasn't much longer before the pulsations were too much for Dean and he spasmed inside of me, filling me up, slumping forward.

He rolled to one side, onto his back, so that he was lying next to me, and neither of us spoke for a while. Once I felt like I might have feeling back in my legs, I sat up and went to the bathroom with my clothes, coming out fully dressed. Ambrose was still lying there naked, spent cock just flopped to one side.

"Thanks," I said, trying not to stare too obviously. "You have no idea how much I needed that."

"Oh, I think I have some idea," he replied, grinning.

"I'm gonna go now."

"Okay, Georgie. Come back any time."

I didn't like the way my body reacted when he called me Georgie—only friends call me Georgie—and I didn't plan on coming back any time soon, either. Hopefully now I had Ambrose out of my system, I could concentrate on more important things, like the Divas Championship, and beating up the Bellas at every opportunity I could get. Going back to my room and crawling into bed, I found the tension of earlier was gone. I slept sounder than I have ever in my life.


	10. Light A Match To Leave Me Be

**Author's Note: Boy, thanks for all the reviews, you guys! I've been suuuuper busy at work the last week or so hence the slowness of me updating. But here you go. Enjoy. *evil smirk***

* * *

_Keep quiet  
Nothing comes as easy as you  
Can I lay in your bed all day?  
I'll be your best kept secret  
And your biggest mistake_

* * *

When Monday night came around and I walked into the building solo, I felt like people were looking at me with some sort of impossible knowledge, like the reality of what I'd done with Dean the other night was written all over my face and body. I had been meaning to talk to Dean, to make sure that he wasn't going to go blabbing about us all over the locker room—he didn't seem like a blabbing kind of guy, but you never know with villainous types. If he thought the dissemination of that particularly juicy bit of information might have held any tactical advantage for him, I didn't doubt that he would use it. The last thing I needed was to get that kind of a reputation among the divas.

I wasn't even scheduled to compete tonight—but Kaitlyn was cashing in her number one contender's position that she'd won at Summerslam against AJ for the divas title tonight. I was keen to see the fight, watching with my arms crossed at one of the monitors backstage. I felt a tap on my shoulder, and spun around, expecting Dean, or the Bellas, or someone else I'd need my guard up around. It was Renee Young, the interviewer, with a microphone, and a camera.

"Georgia, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Sure," I said.

"You're watching this match-up between AJ and Kaitlyn right now—who do you want to win, and do you have eyes on the title yourself?"

"Renee, to tell you the truth, it doesn't really matter who wins. AJ or Kaitlyn, whoever ends up with that title at the end of tonight, yes, I do have eyes on them, and I don't care who knows it."

"Onto a more… personal… matter, you've played some would say a fairly critical part in the feud between Sami Zayn and Dean Ambrose recently. Sami Zayn did kiss you after his title victory at Summerslam, and some people are saying that the reason the Shield attacked the Great Khali and Hornswaggle last week was because of your altercation with Natalya. Can you tell us anything about what's going on on both those fronts?"

I chuckled. "Well, I don't kiss and tell, Renee, so I'm gonna have to say no comment there. As for Dean Ambrose, I'm hoping that now he's gotten his title back he'll lose interest in both Sami and me. And if for some reason the Shield _did _attack Khali because of me, I just want to send a very clear message." I looked directly down the camera lens, addressing it directly as I continued. "I want _nothing_ to do with the Shield."

That last part was specifically directed at Dean, knowing he would be watching somewhere. Surely we had nullified everything now and we could call it all even. There were no more scores to be settled. The moment Renee cleared off, as if by perfect timing, the Bella twins appeared over my shoulder.

"Wow, she's got a boyfriend _and _a stalker," said Nikki.

"She sure must love attention," Brie added. I turned, seething.

"I thought you girls got the message the last time, stay out of my business."

"It's our business if you're running rampant all over the division, Shield taking out your competition left, right and centre," Nikki said, poking her finger into my chest.

I sized them up, side by side, wondering how I was going to go about beating the crap out of both of them simultaneously. They had started inching apart, putting distance between them so that I couldn't possibly keep my eyes on both of them at once. _That _was the tactical advantage of a 2-on-1, more than anything. I clenched both my hands into fists, ready to swing at the first one that made a move.

I was pretty surprised when they both started to back off, looking behind me, faces tilted upwards, vindictive smirks turned to apprehension. I swung around and Dean Ambrose was standing behind me, staring icy daggers into the Bella twins.

"Later," one twin said to the other. They scurried off back to wherever they came from.

"Ambrose…" I said, exasperated. I led him away from the monitor area, so we could have a little more privacy, and so I could rant at him. "I totally had those bitches. Did you not hear me just then? Didn't you get what you wanted?"

"Ambrose?" he repeated, moving closer. I reclaimed the distance by stepping back. No way I was letting him get his hands on me again. Who knows where that could lead. "I preferred the way you said my name the other night, the way you _screamed _it. That was nice."

I cleared my throat. "I don't know if you think the other night meant anything, but I can confirm now for you that it did _not_."

"Oh, I think it did," he said. "And no, for the record, I haven't quite gotten everything I want yet."

I didn't know quite how to interpret that, or how to respond to any of it really, so I left, endeavoring to find a monitor somewhere quieter where I could watch the rest of AJ and Kaitlyn's match in peace. Apparently my association with Dean Ambrose and the Shield was not over just yet.

In what was no surprise to many, including myself, AJ retained with a little interference from Big E Langston. In all fairness, she could have beat Kaitlyn with or without Big E's help, but AJ seemed to revel in the act of cheating, in making Kaitlyn mad. And you couldn't deny, she was damn good at it.

* * *

Later that week at Smackdown, I went to Vickie Guerrero and pressed her for a match with Kaitlyn. I argued that I had gotten down to the last two in the Summerslam fatal four-way, and that I deserved a chance to redeem myself. Good old Vickie—she was very pliable these days, open to suggestion. Brad Maddow at her side nodded approvingly and she made the match.

"Why did you ask for a match with me tonight?" Kaitlyn said, immediately walking up to me as I entered the locker room.

"Because I wanted one," I stated. "Nothing personal."

"Because if you beat the former number one contender, that puts you top of the list for the title, is that it?"

I shrugged. "We're all here for the same reason."

"If the Shield interfere with this tonight, you're never going to be able to show your face in here again, you know that right?"

"They won't. If they try, I'll concede the match."

"You will?"

I nodded. "I'm as sick of their shit as everyone else is."

Wasn't that the truth.

Maybe Ambrose had listened to me a little bit at least on Monday night, because he didn't interfere in my match with Kaitlyn. But, I'd made no promises about anyone else coming out, which was what AJ decided to do about halfway through. Every week she found new ways to taunt Kaitlyn. Tonight, she was so distracted by AJ's antics, I was able to come around behind her and lock my arms together for the Lions Gate, briding my shoulders up from the mat for the pin.

I got up, referee holding my arm up as the victor. She was looking up at me—stunned, annoyed, frustrated. I shrugged, much like she had done when she got the pin over me at Summerslam. She couldn't be too mad at that.

AJ was still at ringside, watching. She slipped into the ring as the ref let go of my wrist and came and stood in front of me, Big E standing behind, keeping guard. I wouldn't have attacked her regardless, but she obviously wanted the reassurance.

"You think you're ready to face me for this?" she sneered, peering up at me. The height difference between us was significant, but she was still perfectly capable of intimidation. "You're not even close… Come on, Big E."

She turned and skipped out of the ring, Big E obediently trudging along behind her. I nodded to myself in the middle of the ring as I watched her leave. AJ was underestimating me, and that was a good thing.

* * *

"You know you're a tough one to catch up with," Dean Ambrose said, appearing by my side. I was moving quickly across the hotel lobby, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, having just gotten a ride back from the arena after the show.

"Maybe you're just slow," I shrugged, keeping my distance.

"AJ is underestimating you," he said, ignoring my jibe. "That's good—very good. Means you can catch her by surprise."

"Gee, thanks for the strategy tips, General! You gonna let me get in this elevator?"

He was standing between me and the button I needed to call the thing. Dean stepped aside, and I pressed the little up arrow, making it glow faint red. I watched the display intently as the numbers counted down until the letter G appeared. I stepped into the elevator compartment, and Dean followed me in. Great, alone in an elevator with Dean Ambrose.

As soon as the doors shut and the elevator started to rise, he was lightning fast in pressing me up against the wall.

"Business aside, Georgie," he hissed, pinning my hip to the cold mirrored panelling with one impossibly strong hand. "I have a bone to pick with you."

He paused, and my stomach dropped as a million things ran through my mind as to why he might be pissed off at me now.

"See," he continued, "Here's my problem: I just can't manage to get the sound of you panting my name out of my head. I still can't get the image of you _thrashing_ underneath me out of my head. And no matter how hard I try, I can't stop remembering what being inside you felt like. God, I'm getting hard just thinking about it."

He grabbed my wrist, guiding my hand to his crotch area and sure enough—there was definitely some activity going on there. I swallowed, looking him straight in the eye as I couldn't help but drag my hand down against him. He growled, pushing himself into me, and I felt a familiar igniting in my core that I tried, hopelessly, fruitlessly, to ignore. This was exactly what I'd wanted to avoid. But I'd caught it full brunt anyway. Now I needed him, too.

The doors opened onto level eight. I stepped out of the compartment and into the hallway, looking back at Ambrose, still standing there, staring at me so intensely I thought I might catch fire.

"You coming then?" I called to him, off-handedly, strolling the short distance to the door of my room. He didn't need to be told twice—striding out of the lift at an alarming pace, coming to lean against the wall next to me as I fiddled with the hotel keycard and unlocked the room.

The minute we were inside, I found myself pressed up against the door by Dean's body. His face was centimetres from mine—I tilted my head up so that our lips could have touched if just one of us cared to move in. We had so much... _history_ already, but I still didn't know what his lips felt like. On my lips at least. His hand came up to rest on my cheek, fingers trailing down the length of the hair framing my face to my neck. I was aware of the shallowness of my breathing, and the flipping of my stomach.

I couldn't stand the tension—I moved my face up to try to capture his lips, but he pulled away, expertly keeping the same distance between us. Borne out of annoyance, I made a whimpering noise, which made him smirk. He practically forces himself on me, and I invite him in, just for him to deny me? Fucking jerk. Despicably sexy jerk.

His leg somehow managed to work its way between mine, pressing up very purposefully against my groin, creating friction against my core. I bit my lip, making pleading eyes at him.

"Georgie, Georgie, Georgie… What am I meant to do with you?" he muttered, almost growled, all the while still grinding up against me. The red hot friction caused by his layers of clothing and mine was making my eyes squeeze shut, and I was helplessly moving my hips into him, holding onto his shoulders for dear life, begging for more with my body and the incoherent noises I was making. I'd never been this turned on in all my life. Ambrose had reached a new level of torture—I could barely breathe.

He was working into a rhythm now, grinding me up against the door, eyes still watching my own as he refused to let my lips come into contact with his. His mouth was all hung open and every so often his tongue would dart out to moisten his bottom lip. I was caught between the point of bursting or crumpling to the ground—I didn't know which way I was going to go.

"Oh… fuck…" I moaned as a surprisingly intense orgasm ripped through me. I twitched and arched against his upper body, fingers curling into the front of Dean's shirt.

"Oh, baby, did you just come?" he said, voice thick with equal parts lust and amusement.

"Mm—maybe," I mumbled, lowering my head onto Dean's chest, breathing heavy.

Without a word, he picked me up and threw me on the bed. When I picked myself up to turn and face him, he had already gotten rid of his shirt and was unbuckling his jeans at the foot of the bed.

"Take your clothes off," he ordered.

I disgusted myself with how readily I complied.


	11. Divine Intervention

_Despondent, distracted,_  
_You're vicious and romantic;_  
_These are a few of my favorite things._

* * *

_Without a word, he picked me up and threw me on the bed. When I picked myself up to turn and face him, he had already gotten rid of his shirt and was unbuckling his jeans at the foot of the bed._

_"Take your clothes off," he ordered._

_I disgusted myself with how readily I complied._

* * *

I was on my knees at the edge of the bed, back arched, eyes stinging with tears as Dean pulled my hair back with two hands, keeping me perfectly in place as he drove into me roughly from behind. I was taking deep, gasping breaths, concentrating alternately on trying to keep quiet and the sensations of him filling me, then leaving me, over and over, until the friction was unbearable. As the latter took over, I was moaning with reckless abandon, pushing back into him, wanting it to be possible for him to enter me further. Behind me, Dean was trying as hard as he could to do just that, every thrust was harder, rougher, fiercer—he was fucking me like he hated me, and god, I wanted him to.

Without warning, he let go of my hair, his upper body folding over until his face was buried into the back of my neck. He let out a guttural, shuddering moan that found its way right to my core to let me know he was coming, and I could feel the hot pulses inside of me—fuck, he was coming hard.

After he had rolled off of me, I looked down at him and he was breathing hard, eyes shut, Adam's apple moving up and down in his throat. The look on my face must have resembled amazement. Feeling the aftermath of what had just happened start to drip down my thigh, I stood up quickly and moved into the bathroom.

I walked out, still entirely naked, and Dean was laying on my bed, arms propping his head up. I bent down and tossed him the first piece of clothing of his I could find. Perhaps unusefully, that was his shirt.

"Not one for pillow talk then?" he said, smirking, taking the t-shirt in both hands then setting it beside him defiantly. Whatever. If he wanted to be the only naked one, he could be. I started to dress myself at the foot of the bed where all my clothes had landed.

"So what's your gameplan with AJ?" Dean asked casually.

"Can you get dressed please?" I returned. He had a very…distracting…physique. He sighed and stood up to retrieve his clothes. Thank you. "My plan is to keep beating anyone I come up against until they can't _not_ give me a title shot," I continued.

"Brute force, then," he said, scooping his jeans off of the ground and pulling them up his thighs. "I can appreciate that as a strategy. AJ's a cerebral opponent, though. You'll need more than that to actually beat her."

"I'll see about that later," I shrugged. "I like to concentrate on one thing at a time."

"Don't I know that."

"I don't suppose you'll leave me alone after this," I said finally, perching myself on the end of the bed as Dean pulled on his t-shirt.

"I don't suppose I will."

"You haven't… you're not going to tell anyone, though," I stated, though it was really more of a question I desperately sought an answer to.

"Not as long as you keep me happy."

I furrowed my brow. I don't know what answer I was expecting, but…that?

"Are you blackmailing me right now?"

"Yes and no," he shrugged. "If I tell people now, you'll get mad at me and I'll never get in your pants again. Or maybe I still could…" I glared at him, but he continued. "But if you decide to end it anyway, then what do I care if people know?"

It was perfect Ambrose logic: entirely self-interested, but at the same time, actually quite clever and perceptive to other people's mindsets. That was part of what made him so dangerous, I suppose—and why I was so wary around him, but at the same time, inexplicably drawn.

The way he said, 'if I decide to end it' made it sound like we had some little arrangement going, which I was eager to deny, but thought better of it, given what he'd just told me. My only course of action, it seemed, would be to try to avoid being alone with Dean Ambrose as much as possible. Maybe that way he'd lose interest in me. Regardless of how good we were together in the bedroom, I wanted nothing to do with him when it came to business in the ring, and more importantly, I still didn't trust him.

* * *

After beating Layla exactly one week later in a quick and painless (for me anyway) match on Friday night Smackdown, AJ came out to confront me again. Seems she was more than capable of pissing off two girls at once. She didn't really piss me off, though—in fact, what she'd said made me happier than I could have ever imagined.

"Another win, Georgia, good for you!" she said, clapping her hands together in mock-enthusiasm. "I bet you think you're well on your way now, got a pretty good shot at this, right?"

She gestured to the title on her shoulder, over-sized compared to her tiny frame. I nodded determinedly, staring her and the title down.

"I just wanted you to know that you think you're something…but you're not. You're nothing, compared to me," she said, eyes going icy cold. "And I'm going to show you that you're nothing. Because I am a benevolent champion—a real champion—I'm going to give you the title shot you want, on Raw, this Monday."

The crowd roared. I raised my eyebrows and nodded, barely reacting, even though my heart was racing now.

"It's already cleared with Vickie," she added, stepping forward until she was almost right under my nose. "See you in the ring." She backed up from me and I let her walk away, eyes on her title as she went.

Backstage, Renee Young was waiting for me for an interview.

"Georgia, AJ just shocked you and the rest of the WWE universe with the news that you'll be given a title shot this Monday on Raw. Reactions?"

I smiled. "I think we all know why AJ wants to give me this title shot. She wants to boost her ego again, just like she did with Kaitlyn, by defending her title. And that's noble. I respect a champion that lays their title on the line. But if she's giving me the shot because I'm the newest diva, or because she thinks I'm weak and inexperienced, she's going to be very surprised to find out just how wrong she is. Little girls like her need to learn not to play with fire."

* * *

I prepared as best I could before Monday night, watching a bunch of AJ's most recent matches. I studied how she'd beaten Kaitlyn, again. The trick with AJ is she mostly relies on psychological tactics to get you off your game—she exposes your weaknesses and then uses them against you. In a pure contest of physicality, I would probably have the upper hand, but did I have the mental strength to beat her? That I'd have to wait and find out.

The locker room was deathly quiet as I walked in. I glanced at Kaitlyn, and she turned away from me. Layla, too. I still couldn't work out these damn locker room politics. Whatever, I had other things on my mind.

On my way through the arena, I had stopped in the costume department to pick up my new ring gear for tonight. Special occasion, right? I pulled the tights out of my bag and looked them over, smiling slightly to myself but, overall, trying not to look to pleased with my new acquisition. The pants were block platinum purple with silver stripes down the sides of the legs, with a matching purple top. It wasn't my usual halterneck—I'd asked the seamstress just to design something that she thought would look good. The result was a bandeau sort of top that came midway to my belly button, material bunching into the middle of my chest to give some cleavage, held up by silver straps that came together at the back of my neck, then fanned back out on either side of my body.

I put on silver elbow pads and purple boots to top it all off then headed off to make-up. Them's the rules: gear first, then make-up. I was all matching now with black and purple smokey eyes. Now I was ready there was no need to go back to the locker room. I pulled out my phone and texted Sami.

'Wish me luck :)'

I also snapped a photo of myself in the full-length mirror and sent it off. I got back from him a few moments later after the picture had sent the full way through:

'Hot! Don't need luck babygirl, you'll kill it out there'

I smiled as I read it. I was about to reply back when another message came through only seconds after the first.

'Watch out for the Shield.'

'I know,' was what I ultimately sent back. It kind of worked for everything he'd said.

On my way out of make-up, I passed Roman Reigns in the hallway, on his phone. Another left turn and I saw Seth Rollins. And where two are, the third can't be far behind… Sure enough, waiting for me as I crossed the expanse to the rear of the stage set-up was Ambrose, leaning against a crate, arms crossed.

"Nice gear," he said, pushing himself off the crate as I passed him, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Thanks," I said, walking on. He didn't follow me any further. I was glad. I still didn't like the little gauntlet he'd set up, though. I didn't understand it.

When I stepped out from the curtain, the crowd was fully on my side. One sign in the crowd I noticed said 'Georgia = New Divas Champ'. I liked that one. The energy from the crowd was psyching me up at the top of the stage. I sped down the ramp, colorful blurs of people and lights rushing past, and slid into the ring. I jumped to my feet and went to the corner, hoping to psyche the crowd up some more. If this match was about who was in the right frame of mind to win the title, I knew I'd need the support of the crowd to get me over the line. I fed off them. And I hoped I'd be able to give them something to feed off of in return.

AJ came down with Big E—she never came down with Dolph anymore. I wasn't sure why that was. I wasn't about to ask. She'd probably bite my face off. She dusted off the top of her divas title and handed it to the ref, then stood before me in the ring, nearly chest-to-chest, ready to go. The most important match of my life was about to begin.

We tied up to start the match off, and found that her strength was no match for mine. I forced her into a corner straight away—a display of dominance—the ref telling me to get off her. I released her, backing away, hands in the air. We went at it again, and this time AJ used her speed advantage to quickly duck behind me, pinning my arm behind my back, wrenching it upwards. I cried out, trying to struggle free. I ducked under my own arm to untwist myself, and earned myself a good shoulder to the gut in the process.

It was shaping up to be an epic sort of match. Everything I tried to do to AJ she evaded somehow, and every move she tried on me I was able to absorb. That's when the mindgames started, though. Frustrated that she couldn't lock in her deadly submission the Black Widow on me, she began to taunt me, wanting to throw me off my guard, trying to get me to make a wild, undisciplined attack.

"I heard a rumor about you and Ambrose," she hissed in my ear as she had my arm wrenched behind my back once again. That threw me, allowing her to push her weight into me so that I was now pinned face down to the mat.

"So it's true then," she giggled, barely audibly. To the audience and everyone else, it would have just looked like she was trash talking me. I didn't respond. Saying anything would have been an incrimination on my part. I didn't even know what this 'rumor' was, though I had my suspicions.

When I felt her grip and pressure loosen for just a split second, I rolled out of the hold, leaping to my feet, coming at her with a blistering clothesline. She'd had the same idea. We collected each other and both ended up on the ground, holding our chests, gasping for air.

AJ had had more of the upperhand in the match so far, so she was able to recover a little more quickly than me. I heard a noise boom out from the speakers and the roar of the crowd. Huh? I lifted my head from the canvas and saw that AJ had gotten to her feet, but she was facing away from me, looking up at the image on the Titantron.

It was Seth Rollins, holding the camera up to his face, grinning darkly, and in the background, a pink blur rushing across the screen, being propelled by distinctive black into a mass of black curtains. Seth brought the camera over to further show Roman kicking the absolute crap out of Dolph Ziggler as he was doubled over, curled into a ball, reeling for air. AJ was distraught in the ring, little body thrashing around at the ropes. But all I could think of was where was Dean in all of this?

The answer came only a second later as I heard the sickening smack of steel against skin. Dean had come through the crowd, it seemed, and landed a devastating chair shot to the back of Big E Langston. AJ barely seemed to notice her beefy bodyguard being taken out, that she was completely alone now. She was too caught up watching Dolph.

I was slowly getting to my feet now, and I glanced at Ambrose, making sure he wasn't about to try anything else, but he was just standing over Big E's prone body. He caught my gaze and nodded towards AJ. I knew what he was saying with his eyes: go on, she's right there.

And she was. I could see the title in my grasps even now. I rushed up behind her, locking my wrists together around her tiny waist and flung her skyward, over my head, and slammed her down onto the mat. But this was a title match, and one has to be thorough, so I dragged her up to her feet again and went for a second German, this time thinking it would be enough for the pin. She was like a ragdoll above me, completely folded over, unmoving. The referee checked that my shoulders were bridged up from the mat, then started the count. I made a mental note to remember this moment for the rest of my life. 1… 2… 3.

Three seconds was all it took to change my life forever. I was the new Divas Champion. I got to my feet as the referee handed me the belt, holding my arm up in victory, then sank to my knees to look at it, eyes watering. Mine. My eyes darted up to Ambrose again, and he was just looking at me. Why had he helped me win the divas title? The elation on my face turned to caution, confusion, and, as I heard the crowd's reaction, anguish. They had cheered me as I entered the ring before the match, had been solidly, definitely behind me, but now… I heard booing. My stomach dropped, listening harder, eyes darting around to the faces of individual audience members. Yep, booing and stunned silence. Because of the Shield. My first title win had been tainted by the Hounds of Justice.

* * *

_An act of God and nothing less will be accepted._  
_Now if you're calling me out,_  
_Then count me out._

* * *

**Author's Note: Boy is this a fun story to write. Quick thanks for everyone's continued support. Now I'm not one to beg for reviews, but they really honestly do make me more motivated to write, and they also make me very happy :P Just putting it out there. I like to know what you guys think!**


	12. Crash Into My Arms

_And oh, you look so tired  
But tonight you presume too much  
Too much, too much  
And if it's the last thing I ever do  
I'm gonna get you _

* * *

With one hand gripping my belt by the centrepiece and the other fisted firmly in my own hair, I ran up the ramp and backstage, leaving the chaotic mess at ringside far behind me. I rushed past so many faces—production assistants, other wrestlers—unable to look any of them in the eye. I realized too late that I was subconsciously heading back towards the divas locker room, a place I probably shouldn't have gone. I burst in, looking around at all the faces as they turned to me.

"Well, there she is!" a Bella twin announced. "Dean Ambrose's little toy doll."

"And now he's dressed you all up in pretty jewellery," Bella #2 added.

"Oh, that's a good one!" I shot back. "Really. I mean, where do you find the time to come up with those lines in between all your botox appointments?"

I picked up my bag from the opposite side of the locker room and walked out. I'd wait until everyone else went back for the night, I guessed. Or leave the arena in my boots and pads and shower back at the hotel.

I just managed to make it to an empty corridor—nobody had even bothered to turn on the lights—before I gasped and tears streamed down my face. I leant my forehead against the wall, eyes down, looking at the face of the championship belt. My belt. Part of me was telling myself that it didn't matter _how _I'd won the belt, just that I'd won it. The other part of me, the little 16-year-old wannabe wrestler still inside of me, was shaking her head, remembering the fantasy of how this was all meant to play out. I was not the kind of champion I wanted to be.

My phone vibrated in my bag. I pulled it out to see a new message from Sami.

'Congrats but… what the hell was that?'

'I don't know. I really don't know,' I sent back. I tossed my phone back onto my bag and resumed my position against the wall, choking back sobs, trying to cry so silently that nobody would hear where I was.

"Georgia…" a voice called, elongating the vowels. Only one person said my name quite like that. I wiped my eyes quickly and turned away from the wall to see Dean Ambrose standing there, looking at me with an analyzing stare.

"Leave me alone, Ambrose," I said, trying to sniff quietly. His face soured as I called him Ambrose. He really didn't like when I called him that. "What in the hell were you thinking?"

In a second flat he was beside me. "You should be more grateful, Georgia," he said sternly. "You're a champion now, like me."

"Grateful?" I said, incredulous, flinging my arms out at my sides. "I could have won that title on my own. I would have shown them all—shown you, too."

"You think?" he said, edging closer. I turned my face away from his. "Because I'm pretty sure AJ saw me leaving your hotel room last night."

Oh boy. I'd forgotten about that. A momentary lapse of judgment. I'd let him corner me in the gym the previous day. The minute he'd brushed the bare skin of my shoulder with his fingertips, I was completely and utterly putty in his hands, and he'd known it. After we both got back from the gym, he'd invited himself into my room, and was more than happy to let me take the lead. He hadn't left until close to midnight.

"You think she wasn't going to use ammo like that against you in your match tonight?" he continued, annoyance creeping into his tone of voice now. "I just evened the score."

I must have missed some of the tears on my face because Dean put his thumb up to my cheek and wiped away a splotch of wetness, but the suddenness of his movement startled me. Without thinking, on total instinct, I slapped his hand away. Now he was positively scowling at me. He took the hand he'd used to wipe my tear away and grabbed my hair instead, yanking my head back so that his face was hovering right above mine. In my already heightened emotional state, the added pain of him pulling my hair forced a choked sob out of me, my eyes welling right up again.

"Please don't cry, Georgia," he growled. "I hate it when girls cry in front of me."

He kissed me then, and the shock of it all immediately ceased my tears. His mouth was hot and possessive on mine, wasting no time as I opened my mouth onto his. It was exactly what I needed right now, though I hadn't known it until that moment. I was tearing into his utility vest, desperate to unclasp it, to get at what was underneath. I could feel the sweet release of tension already, flooding out from my body at any point where I was making contact with Dean. There was so much tension; I needed that point of contact to be everywhere. I sucked hard on his bottom lip, eliciting a small growl and further tug to my hair, which he was still gripping tightly, as if he thought if he let it go for a second I might run away.

"You wanna take this back to the hotel?" he mumbled into my lips, barely pulling back to form the words.

"No," I whispered, mindlessly rolling my body against his, frustrated by the lack of friction, and he ground right back, pressing his hardness into my hip.

"You would want me to fuck you right here in the hallway, wouldn't you," he drawled. His hand was moving down now, trailing down my stomach, leaving hot little goosebumps. "You wanna hide me away, pretend you don't love it when I fuck you, but secretly you want the world to see."

An involuntary, shameful little moan escaped me as his hands worked my tights down my thighs while his lips made contact with my jawline, scraping over my pulse. As I glanced around the darkened corridor, part of me was beginning to think I shouldn't be letting him do this, but as he slid a finger between my legs I whimpered and that part of me was silenced and I just pulled him closer, making begging eyes at him.

"Take your pants off," he growled, unbuckling the belt of his black combat trousers. I bent down, struggling to pull the fabric of one leg over my rigid purple boots. I felt a hand on my hair again as Dean pulled me up impatiently.

"Good enough," he muttered. He lifted up my bare leg and wrapped it around his waist. I hooked my arms around his shoulders and he lifted me up the rest of the way, propped up between the wall and a hard place, I guess you could say. I hissed as Dean positioned himself at my entrance—oh god, yes, a very hard place.

I sank down onto him slowly, biting my lip, trying to keep from crying out. His mouth dropped open, baring his teeth as he pulled out and slowly thrust back in. Finally, that beautiful friction—I moaned quietly into the shoulder of his thick utility vest, tensing my legs around his waist, tilting my hips towards him, trying to pull him further into me.

"That's my girl," he purred, starting into a rhythm of short, hard thrusts, jaw visibly tensing, jutting out. It was getting harder and harder not to cry out as pressure built in my core. I was whimpering, keening against him, begging for release.

"Oh, baby," he groaned, mouth open against my cheek. "You always break so easily for me."

My eyes rolled back in my head, every word he said pushing me over the cliff.

"Unfff—yes!" I cried out suddenly, voice echoing down the corridor. Dean slapped a hand over my mouth as I rode the waves of my orgasm out, moaning into his hand. He increased his pace even more as I continued to spasm through the aftershocks, putting his hand back down to support my ass again. Soon I saw the familiar expression on his face—I was getting good at knowing when he was about to come.

"Fuck, Georgie," he groaned, burying his head into my shoulder against the wall. My name was escaping his lips in more little grunts as he ground me against the wall, seeming to fill me entirely.

When he put me down I tried to hold myself up with my own strength but found that my legs were so weak. I slid partway down the wall, but he quickly reached out to catch and easily support me in his arms. I was a puddle of goo, a broken mess—physically, emotionally...

"Like it or not," he said, looking into my glassy eyes, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, "I'm always going to get to you, and you're always gonna let me."

* * *

_Crash into my arms  
I want you  
You don't agree  
But you don't refuse  
I know you_

* * *

When I arrived at Smackdown, I was faced with the annoying entity that is Brad Maddox. I was not particularly in the mood to deal with him right now. I hadn't gotten a lot of sleep last night.

"Hey champ," he said, smiling that cheesy smile of his.

"Hey, Brad," I replied, hoisting my title a little higher on my shoulder.

"When you're ready, Vickie wants to see you."

I nodded, moving past him on my way to the divas locker room. The room went silent as I walked in. AJ wasn't around, but I figured if Vickie wanted to see me in her office, I'd probably find her there. As I put my bag down, for once there was no one making smart-ass comments, no one blocking me at the mirror—Layla even _smiled _at me again, but it wasn't warm, and certainly not inviting. Maybe the divas title did command a little respect around here. It certainly had for AJ. Or maybe they were all just afraid if they weren't nice to me now the Shield would come and get them. I could deal with that. In this business, it's better to be feared than loved.

I knocked briefly on the door to Vickie's office then walked right on in, and was greeted with the sight of Vickie, Brad and AJ, who was flanked by Dolph Ziggler and Big E Langston on each side. AJ glared at me, and the title on my shoulder, the minute I edged into the room, then turned back to Vickie.

"I want. My rematch. Tonight," she said, punctuating her words as she glared up at Vickie.

"I'm sorry, AJ," Vickie replied, superior smirk on her face. She still wasn't the greatest fan of AJ—after all, she had stolen Dolph from her. "Of course you are entitled to your title shot, but in the interest of business, the company would prefer to give you your title shot at the next Pay Per View."

AJ scowled. "Fine," she said through clenched teeth. "But I still want revenge in the ring tonight, and so does Ziggy."

"Yes!" Vickie said, clapping her hands together. "I've already booked a match."

"Uhh… a match?" I chimed in. "Not match_es_?" One for me and AJ, one for Dolph and whichever member of the Shield he wanted, I assumed.

"_A _match," Vickie confirmed. "A tag match—"

"Who are you, Teddy Long?" I interjected coolly, not liking the direction of Vickie's announcement.

"A six-person tag match," she continued, looking at me pointedly for my interruption. "AJ Lee, Dolph Ziggler and Big E Langston versus Georgia Rush, Dean Ambrose and whichever other member of the Shield you choose."

"The Shield are complete renegades. How am I meant to work with them?" I questioned. More importantly, how was I going to get away with being in a match with Ambrose in the ring without giving away my most obvious secret?

Vickie just smiled.

"That's not my problem."

* * *

I stormed out of Vickie's office, not at all impressed with the match she had made. The Shield—and Dean Ambrose specifically—and I were becoming inextricably linked in a professional context and in the eyes of the fans. I owed them for my title victory. Now I had to rely on them to win my match tonight. I didn't like any of it.

I guess I had to go looking for the Shield now, but like they always managed to do, they found me first.

"Hey, Rush!" the raspy high voice of Seth Rollins called out from behind me. I turned to see the three of them, already decked out in their special black outfits. I was still wearing I guess what you could call my civilian clothes.

"I guess you know about the match tonight," I said warily, trying to keep my eyes off of Dean, standing back and to the left of Rollins, afraid just looking at him would give something away. Or did they already know?

"Yeah we know," Reigns said gruffly.

"So it's Ambrose and one of you two, then," I said, folding my arms, and as they approached me I realized that their proximity no longer intimidated me. I no longer feared the Shield. "You wanna do a team huddle or…?"

"It's Reigns," Ambrose interrupted, nodding at the tall Samoan.

"Guess that makes you cheerleader then," I said to Seth.

"You better watch your mouth, girl," he growled, starting forward at me, but I didn't flinch. Ambrose put his arm out across Seth's chest.

"Don't be an idiot, Rollins," he said, keeping his eyes on me. He gestured with his head to his teammates. "Come on."

Rollins strode past me, nose in the air. As Dean went to follow behind him he bent his head down until his nose was inches from my hair.

"See you in the ring, Georgie."


	13. Thank You For The Venom

_So give me all your poison _  
_And give me all your pills _  
_And give me all your hopeless hearts _  
_And make me ill _  
_You're running after something _  
_That you'll never kill _  
_If this is what you want _  
_Then fire at will _

* * *

I went back to the tension-filled locker room to change quickly, then through the gauntlet of hair and make-up before making my way to gorilla. AJ, Dolph and Big E were already in the ring, and I was, of course, alone. The Shield were not accustomed to conventional entrances.

My music hit and I walked out, announced for the first time as the Divas Champion. There was still some cheering, mixed with booes. Walking down to the ring, I could totally feel for guys like John Cena. In this business, it's much easier to have the crowd either completely love you or completely hate you. Being in the middle is no fun at all because you don't know how to act and interact with the crowd. I stonefacedly entered the ring, handing my title off.

_Sierra. Hotel. India. Echo. Lima. Delta. SHIELD._

Ambrose, Rollins and Reigns walked out at the top of the stairs. My two teammates for the night bro-fisted Rollins and then continued down through the crowd, athletically leaping over the barrier. Team AJ had taken the far corner, while Dean and Roman joined me in the other. I didn't look in their direction—barely even addressing them.

Across the ring, AJ moved up onto tip-toes to give Dolph a kiss on the cheek then ducked under the ropes to the outside. I turned around to take my place in the corner, too.

"Hey, where's mine?" Ambrose said, placing a finger on his cheek, turning it towards me. He wanted me to kiss him on the cheek like AJ. Fat chance. I ducked under the ring ropes and took hold of one of the tag ropes, keeping a poker face. Ambrose pretended to look disappointed and then turned round to face Ziggler. As Reigns stepped through the ropes to take his place on the other side of the post, the referee rang the bell.

Dolph and Dean went fast and hard to start the match off, with Dolph's speed confusing and infuriating Dean at first. As Dolph dove between Dean's legs, I let out a giggle and Roman glared at me—'remember whose team you're on,' he seemed to say. Dolph bounced off the ropes to come at Dean, but Dean ghosted him and delivered a mean knee to the mid-section, arresting Dolph's momentum.

Big E was calling for the tag as Dean and Dolph nullified each other on the mat, and Roman was yelling at Dean to drag himself over. Soon the two big men were in the ring together, Big E's mass making Roman look like a cruiserweight by comparison. But AJ was getting impatient as Big E started to work down Roman. She was eyeing me across the ring the whole time.

"Tag me!" she ordered. Big E had no choice but to comply. Leaving Roman doubled over in the centre of the ring, he stomped over and slapped AJ on the hand and climbed out. The referee immediately went to Roman to tell him he needed to tag me in. He stood up, glared at the ref, towering over him. You don't tell Roman Reigns what to do, apparently. The ref held his ground, letting him know our team would be disqualified if he refused to tag me in.

"Fine!" he shouted, coming over and slapping me—not softly—on the hand. I ducked through the ropes and barely had time to right myself before AJ launched herself on top of me, slamming my head repeatedly into the back of the mat. I tried to gather my wits, shifting my weight underneath her, causing her instability and eventually toppling her. I got up, not wanting to play the catfight game and re-established myself in the guard position in the centre of the ring.

She came at me again with the same speed and ferocity, but this time I was ready, falling to the side and catching her with a drop toe hold, propelling her face first to the mat. I stood my guard again and watched her get back to her feet. She was collecting herself now, probably realizing that brute anger and aggression was not going to get the job done against a smart opponent. We tied up and started wrestling properly, a couple of armdrags apiece, several attempted throws on my part, submissions on hers.

I think part of me was still a little pre-occupied with trying to prove to everyone that I was deserving of the divas title and not in need of anyone's help—especially the Shield's. That must have been why I forgot what I was doing for a second and lifted AJ above my head. It was exactly the opening she'd been looking for. She wriggled free of my grasp and locked her legs around my head and shoulder for the Black Widow. My torso was twisted in agony and I was sinking lower and lower to the ground. My hand was hovering in the air, every part of me burning, and I wanted to tap but I knew I just couldn't. That would be the end of me.

My teammates must have sensed I was close to breaking. I heard a third set of feet hit the canvas and rush over to me. AJ suddenly broke the hold, and as I was finally able to look up I saw that Dean had entered the ring. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ziggler climb to the top rope and leap off, taking out Ambrose while he argued with the referee.

At that, Roman decided it was time to enter as well, with Big E quickly entering to even up the numbers. Dean and Dolph had rolled out of the ring together, trading blows, while Big E sent both himself and Reigns sailing over the top rope with a sickening clothesline. It was one-on-one again.

AJ was distracted looking at Ziggler, making sure he wasn't getting beaten on too badly. I, on the other hand, didn't care if Dean was on the losing end of a few punches. I trapped AJ from behind and flung her over my head for a Lions Gate, seeing if I could end it quickly.

The ref began to count, but AJ managed to kick out at two. Wriggling out of my grasp, AJ got to her feet and ran at me, leaping up for what I knew would be an attempt at a hurricanrana (I've watched a _lot_ of her tapes, remember). I stepped back and brought my arms up to deflect her feet away from me and she fell to the mat, clutching the back of her head.

Sensing an opening, I ran back to my own corner and started to climb the rope, perching myself on the top turnbuckle. I waited for her to turn around, hoping that the mass of my flying body onto her tiny frame would knock the wind out of her and enable me to get the pin. Just as she turned, somebody slapped my arm. I looked down. It was Ambrose, and he was holding onto the tag rope. I gave him the most incredulous, most infuriated deathstare I could muster.

The ref had acknowledged the tag and was telling me to get down and into our corner. I climbed down, never taking my eyes off Ambrose as he climbed through the ropes. The ref was now ordering AJ to make the tag. She was looking past the ref straight at me. She was pissed at the tag. I was pissed at the tag. Hey, at least we had something in common. She slapped Dolph's hand and he entered. Now we were back to where we had started, except my shoulder hurt a lot more.

It seemed as though Dolph might have gotten the better of Ambrose when they had been fighting on the outside. Dean was angry, swinging wildly at the much quicker Ziggler. I guess that comes with the experience of being a former Heavyweight Champion—he totally had Dean's number.

After a while, Dean seemed to have had enough of Ziggler and wanted to tag out again, but Reigns and Big E were both in no state to compete, lying on the outside, having brawled around the ring for a good few minutes now. That left me. He stalked over with his hand at the ready.

I jumped down from the apron, and Dean's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Get back up here and tag!" he yelled as I backed further away from the ring.

"Who, me?" I said, glancing from side to side. "Nah, I think you've got this one."

He'd wanted the tag in so bad before... Well, he could have the match all to himself now. I smirked as he gripped the ropes, white-knuckled, teeth bared, hair obscuring his wild expression. The old Georgia would have been afraid of Dean Ambrose in this state. New Georgia gave no fucks.

I gave him the courtesy of at least pointing behind him to Ziggler stalking him in the ring, but there wasn't really any time to turn around. Ziggler jumped up and grabbed him around the chest, landing the Zig-Zag. The referee began to count, and I knew, based on how tired Dean had looked when he'd gotten back in the ring, that there was little hope of him kicking out of this. 1… 2… 3. Victory for Team AJ. I found I didn't care.

I walked around to the back of the ring and collected my title, then back up the ramp. Reigns had rolled into the ring now, probably wondering what the fuck just happened. He looked up towards the stage. I smiled coyly and waved as the crowd chanted 'Georgia! Georgia!'—maybe I'd won them back, just a little, for double-crossing the Shield.

* * *

With the adrenaline of the match finally leaving me, the realization of what I had actually done to Dean and Roman in the match tonight had begun to dawn on me. Somewhere with this whole thing with Dean—sometimes, when we were together in my room or his, he could be downright gentle, funny and, god help me, sweet—I had forgotten the mean, aggressive, vindictive streak that ran through him, as well as the rest of the Shield. The reality was, I didn't know _how _Dean was going to react to my actions, especially with the psychotic Rollins and Reigns both hissing in his ear. Even though he'd pissed me off first, and even though he would have done the same—anger trumps reason. I needed to get the hell out of dodge.

I waited until I thought it was safe to leave, then high-tailed it, watching my own back the whole way through the parking lot. As I got into the elevator and pressed the button to go up to my floor, I let out a sigh of relief—I was home scott free.

But as usual, I speak too soon. My stomach dropped as I saw the figure leaning against my hotel room door. I pulled out my keycard and walked confidently down the hall.

"I think we need to talk, Georgia," Dean said as I slipped the key into the lock. It flashed red.

"Sure," I said, turning to him, folding my arms. He glanced sideways at the door.

"Inside," he clarified.

"If you think I'm letting you in, you're more delusional than I thought," I said.

"And if you think I'm leaving, you're more stupid than I thought," he fired back, baring his teeth.

"If an apology is what you want, you won't be getting one," I said, trying the door again. I was so tired. I just wanted to collapse on the bed. "You tagged yourself in when I had the match under control—I had it won, basically. You don't think I have the ability to win matches. But _you _were the one who lost the match tonight."

The light finally clicked green. I pulled on the handle and opened it a crack, then paused for a moment.

"Please, just leave me alone from now on, Dean," I said finally, then stepped through the doorway into my room. The door was inches from its frame when Dean shoved his foot through, preventing it from closing. I tried to slam the door onto his foot to get him to retreat but he seemed to have his palm pressed up to it, pushing it open. I sighed and let go of the door and it flung wide open. Dean stepped inside and slammed it shut behind him.

"Leave," I said, not even looking at him. I put my duffel bag on the bed and started unpacking my ring gear.

"No." I heard him cross the very short distance of the room, shivering slightly as I felt him come up behind me.

"You think you're a clever little bitch for making me lose tonight," he hissed into my ear.

He grabbed my hair and yanked it backwards, hard. A little squeaking noise escaped me as he pulled. With his other hand, he reached around and swept my bag and its contents onto the floor, then pushed me forward onto the bed, face first.

"You're going to pay now," he said, voice eerily calm. He pressed down on my back with his knee, keeping me pinned to the bed while he unbuckled his belt and slid it out of his pants, tossing it onto the bed in front of my face. My eyes widened. _Shit._

My breathing started to get rapid as he shifted his weight and gathered my hands up behind my back, picking up the belt to wind it around my wrists. A little relief washed through me that that was what he wanted to use the belt for. Only a little, though. I was, after all, now bound face down on my own hotel bed. But my will to fight—it was barely there. I closed my eyes and resigned myself as Dean let up from his position on my back and started to work my sweatpants down my thighs.

"On your knees," he said. I heard the soft sounds of fabric being tossed to the ground and obediently brought my knees up under me. With my arms tied behind my back, I couldn't really push myself up, but I didn't like the vulnerability of my position—ass in the air, face to the bed. I used my core muscles to pull myself up but was shoved back down for my efforts.

"That's just fine like that," he muttered. I tried to quiet my breathing as he worked my t-shirt slightly up my torso, ran his hands over my lower back and then over my exposed cheeks.

Then he spanked me. Hard. Once on my left cheek. Then one on the right. The skin he'd made contact with immediately began to throb. Fuck, he could hit hard. When he brought his hand back down onto the already sensitive skin for an even harder slap, a choked sob escaped me.

"What was that?" Dean said, leaning over me, bending down to put his ear next to my face. He kept his hand on my throbbing cheek and spanked me again. I swallowed to prevent myself from crying out. "Come on, Georgia, you know you want to scream for me."

He backed up again, standing upright behind me and delivered another eye-watering smack to my behind. I groaned involuntarily. The noise spurred him on—he smacked me again, and again, and again—oh god, it stung, and every time he hit me I was more tender, senses overloaded with pain. Now I was just whimpering, pressing my face into the mattress, trying to muffle my sounds as best I could.

"Stop," I breathed, gasping for air. I couldn't see through the tears.

"Don't wanna scream for me, huh?" he said. He started to rub his hand in circles over my ultra-sensitive skin, his fingers eventually slipping in between my legs, brushing over my core. I cried out, bucking my hips. Fuck—what the fuck was that?! I was sensitive—so much more sensitive than usual. Dean kept his hand there, rubbing slowly over my clit, through my folds and over my entrance. My face flushed as I felt the familiar wetness and heard Dean's satisfied growl.

"You fucking liar," he drawled. "Acting like you didn't fucking love that." As he pressed a finger inside of me, then two, I angled my hips up, shamefully pushing back into him. "Little slut. I could do anything to you and you'd get wet, wouldn't you?"

I didn't reply and so he stopped, drawing his finger out, and smacked me again. I yelped.

"Wouldn't. You," he repeated.

"Yes!" I gasped.

"You want me to make you come?" he asked, thankfully, mercifully, going back to circling my clit with his middle finger. He dropped down to his knees behind me and made contact with his tongue. I arched my back and moaned hotly.

"Please," I whimpered.

"You don't deserve it," he muttered, keeping his tongue rolling over my core, dipping inside of me. Somewhere in all of this, tension had been building, and now I couldn't stop it. I came so hard I almost blacked out, thrashing hard against the mattress, shoulders straining against my bonds.

Satisfied with my orgasm, I heard him unzip his trousers and, a moment later, felt him line up behind me. He thrust in carelessly, moving fast and hard. I was matching him groan for groan, eyes rolling back.

"You don't ... know how much I ... fucking _need_ you," I thought I heard him mutter, in between grunts, hands clamped tightly around my waist. His pelvis slapping against my ass stung a little from the spanking I had just endured, but it soon went to the back of my mind—now I was screaming... Really fucking _screaming_.

I was ashamed to come so quickly, again, all because of the sweet mix of pleasure and pain Dean had proven himself capable of inflicting on me. All through the aftershocks he kept driving into me, forcing himself deeper—so impossibly deep. Then suddenly he stopped.

With one hand he flipped me over onto my back, arms pinned underneath me now. He came onto the bed and kneeled over me, fisting one hand into my hair, the other over his cock, stroking himself at the same rate as he'd been fucking me.

"Open your fucking mouth," he said, breathing extremely ragged. As soon as I parted my lips, he pushed his tip just past them and let out a satisfied groan. I kept my eyes open, watching his face contort as I felt hot spurts land on my tongue and down the back of my throat. I swallowed rapidly as best I could, and as he spent his last few drops he wiped the last traces on my bottom lip and down my chin.

It took him a few moments to get his breath back and come down properly. Bending down, he wiped his thumb over my chin, collecting his own mess, then gently placed it in my still open mouth. I sucked obediently, cleaning him off. He pulled me up to a sitting position and put his arms around behind my back, undoing his knotted belt.

"I don't know why you think you can stop this, Georgia," he said as I brought my hands around to my front and checked out the damage—red welts all over. I sat there half in shock, rubbing at my sore wrists as the blood flooded back through. "This is how it's always gonna be, you and me. We'll fight like dogs and fuck like champions. We will tear the world _apart_ just to get at each other. And you know that."

I shook my head and looked up at him, blinking back tears, not sure whether they were from the pain of the spanking, the toe-curling orgasms I'd just had or the come that had just been forced down my throat.

"No," I whispered, just barely able to choke the sounds out. "Never again."


	14. The Lost Art Of Keeping A Secret

_Still can't believe there is a lie_  
_Promise is promise, an eye for an eye_  
_We've got something to reveal_  
_No one can know how we feel _

* * *

A couple days later, Sami called me. I was grateful to speak to him—it had been a rough couple of days. After Ambrose left me in my hotel room that night after Smackdown, I had spent an eternity in the shower, letting water run over my welted cheeks, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

As far as I was concerned, I was sticking to my guns with what I'd said. I could take the punishment—I'm a wrestler for god's sake—but everything was getting far too jumbled, the personal and the professional, and on top of that, if Dean couldn't respect my wishes in a professional sense, then he had no right to come to me when all was said and done. He'd crossed a line.

I answered my phone outside of some gym in St Louis, having just finished my workout.

"Hey man, how are you!" I said excitedly.

"Heeey, not bad, not bad—nice job screwing the Shield the other night. I laughed my ass off."

I laughed down the phoneline, but there was a grimace on my face as I remembered the aftermath.

"Thanks," I said. "It was pretty satisfying."

…That part was true, at least.

"So I had an appointment with the doctor today."

"Yeah? What's the news?"

"It's good. I'll be cleared in time for the Pay Per View. For my rematch."

"That's great!"

It was also only a little over a week away. Sami's return couldn't come too soon in my opinion.

"But wait… There's more."

"Oh, gosh."

"I'll be at Raw next week to announce it."

"Yeeaahh!" I cried. An elderly couple on a bench looked at me strangely. "Ahh, it's gonna be so great to have you back."

"It'll be good to be back. Can't wait to see you…and everyone else."

"Sure thing, okay, well I'll see you at the show then!"

I was grinning down the phone like an idiot.

"You bet. Seeya, Georgie."

"Bye, Sami."

* * *

On Monday afternoon, a few hours before I was going to head down to the arena for the show, I got another call.

"Hey, is this Georgia?"

"Yeah, who's this?"

"It's the Miz."

"Oh, uh… awesome."

He laughed down the phone. "I'm calling to invite you to be a guest on Miz TV this evening. Everybody wants to know about this whole Shield thing and the title win. You in?"

"Sure. I'd be glad to get my side of the story out there."

"Niiice. 9:30 sharp—see you there."

"Kay, bye."

I wasn't sure when Sami was getting to the arena, or what his plans were generally. I was already dressed and ready to go out for the Miz TV thing, but I hadn't seen Sami at all yet. I pulled out my phone and texted him.

'Hey. What are you up to? Am I gonna see you before I go out there tonight?'

My phone buzzed a moment later.

'It's a surprise ;D'

Oh, great, a surprise—I just loved surprises.

The Miz was in the ring, doing a little promo of his own. Then he played a not insubstantial video package recapping all the way back from the first time the Shield had attempted to attack Sami to last Friday on Smackdown when I'd hung Ambrose out to dry.

_"What is going ON with these guys?" _he wondered aloud to the audience. _"Well, let's not wait any longer to find out as I introduce my guest for this evening... She is the WWE Divas Champion… the lovely Georgia Rush!"_

My music began to play and I strode out from behind curtain, belt around my waist. I wasn't scheduled to compete tonight, so I was just wearing a pair of nice jeans, a sleeveless green top and matching green high heels.

The Miz walked over to the ropes and held them open for me to climb through. Not strictly necessary, but a gentlemanly gesture. I took a microphone from ringside and went over to stand center-camera.

"So, I guess what everyone wants to know is, are you working with the Shield?" Miz said, leaning in close, bug-eyed for comic effect. I didn't find it that humorous.

"No, I'm not," I replied. "And can I just say, with regards to this title around my waist… Last week on Raw, that was not the way I wanted to win. In fact, I'm angry at the Shield for what they did. I would have won that match regardless. They didn't rob AJ of her title… They robbed me of my victory."

"Okay, okay," Miz said, tilting his head from side to side. "But don't get mad at me here if I say I'm not sure you're telling us the whole story." I swallowed, hoping no one would notice the subtle change in my face. "I mean, what is with the tension between you and Dean Ambrose? Has he been showing you what justice feels like behind closed doors?"

He wiggled his eyebrows, the implication clear. The crowd reacted. Time to lie.

"Miz…" I said, turning the charm up a notch, batting my eyes. "You think I'm pretty, right?" He nodded vigorously as I traced a line down his tie with my forefinger. "Well, who's to say Dean Ambrose doesn't just have a tiiiny bit of a crush? It happens, you know…" I stepped back from him a bit. He made a show of ringing his collar and loosening his tie—the ham. "Now, as you know, Ambrose is a pretty unorthodox guy. You've seen him wrestle. He's probably just trying to show his feelings in an… unorthodox way."

Unorthodox was one way to describe it.

"You think… Dean _Ambrose_," Miz said, "…has a crush on you?"

I shrugged. "Who knows? But if he does, and _that's_ why he's doing all of this…" I looked around and found the nearest camera and directed my next words straight into it. "Ambrose, I'm not interested."

At that moment, the speakers burst out with an entrance theme I hadn't heard in a long time. The crowd exploded. Sami Zayn was in the building. He too was wearing casual clothes—a nice jacket, jeans and a t-shirt. He jogged up the steps and entered the ring, reaching out for my microphone, which I obliged to hand him.

"Hi," he said quietly to me, with the microphone still at his side.

"Hey," I replied, smiling.

"Well," he said, putting the microphone up to his lips. "It is good to be back in business."

The crowd cheered.

"I hope you don't mind my interrupting your show here," he directed towards the Miz.

"Go ahead," Miz said, stepping back.

"Alright then. I came out here for two reasons," Sami said, holding up two fingers in the air—just for clarification purposes I assumed. "First of all, I am _very_ pleased to announce that my shoulder has healed and I have been medically cleared to compete this Sunday… against Dean Ambrose, for the United States Championship." The crowd went wild again. "Now, speaking of Mr Ambrose…"

Now he turned to me, corner of his mouth turning upwards. I kept my expression looking as neutral as possible.

"If you say you're not associated with the Shield, I believe you. You're my friend, and I know you wouldn't lie to me." I smiled at Sami as he put his hand on my shoulder.

"Now, the second reason I came out here—" He was giving me some intense eye contact now, inching closer. "Georgie, I'd really like to pick up where we left off."

He dropped the mic to the ground and looped an arm around my waist, pulling me into him. I parted my lips and I think I was going to say something, but Sami soon closed his mouth over mine. It was a gentle, testing-the-waters kind of kiss. I put a hand up to his cheek, kissing him back softly as the crowd cheered us on.

I broke away first, smiling shyly at Sami, who was grinning.

"WELL, what a way to end this episode of Miz TV," Miz boomed. "Thank you to our guest… or _guests_, I should say. Go on back, you lovebirds."

Sami gestured to the ropes. I ducked under them and walked back up the ramp with him. He slid a cheeky arm around my waist, and I hit at him playfully. This was what a romance was supposed to be like—shy kisses and walking arm in arm—just sweet little gestures that didn't necessarily have to have the hanging weight of sexual tension behind them. Like with some other people I could think of. But anyway. That was over now.

* * *

"So, that drink?" Sami said as we got backstage.

"I think it's overdue," I agreed. "Just let me go back to the locker room and grab my stuff. Then we can go."

"You know where to find me," he smiled.

I wandered off down the hallway towards the divas locker room with a smile on my face. For a moment, everything was great—dandy, even. I had the crowd back on my side, more or less, I had Sami around again, and I had at least the begruding respect of most of the locker room now—except the Bellas perhaps. Something told me they didn't respect anyone or anything. I was in such a good mood, I guess that's why I didn't see him lurking until it was much too late.

"You're a better liar than I thought, Georgia," he said. Dean shot out from around a corner and rushed at me, pushing me to the side of the corridor, one hand gripping my upper arm, the other slammed hard against the wall right next to my head.

"Fuck!" I said, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest. As a production assistant started to come down the hall he released me, not pinning me to the wall so much now as just looming over me, massive physical presence still seeming to block all routes of escape.

"You know I could go out there right now," he snarled in a low voice. "Tell the world what you and I have done together. Sure, none of it would get on TV—this is a PG show—but they'd all hear. Pretty sure it'd make their skin crawl. Or, I could just go and find Sami Zayn… Would you like that?" He smiled, which frankly terrified me, bringing his thumb up to gently trace over my bottom lip. "Do you think he'll ever want to kiss you again after he finds out you've had my come in your mouth?"

"Are you going to… tell him?"

I looked up at him with fearful eyes. This man could be my undoing—in fact, he was very often my undoing. He looked to the side, taking a long time to think, every second my fate hanging in the balance.

"No," he said finally.

"Why not?" My face must have looked incredulous, searching his steel blue eyes for some kind of reasoning. He was looking down at me, narrowing those same eyes, jaw tensed.

"I don't want him to know my weakness," he said, pushing off from the wall. He stormed down the corridor as I stood there, shellshocked.

* * *

Sami took me to a little bar just a short walk from the hotel, meaning I could return my bag to my room on the way past. He insisted on buying the first round, and brought a couple of beers over to the table.

"Cheers," he said, raising his glass. As I clinked mine against his, he winked charmingly at me. I suppressed my blush by taking an extremely refreshing sip of beer.

"So what's the gossip?" Sami said, leaning on the table, tracing lines out of the condensation on the glass. "I've been watching obviously, but anything else I should know about?"

"Hmm," I said. "Nothing important. I heard a rumour about Alicia Fox and Justin Gabriel. But it turned out to be nothing."

"It's weird though," Sami continued, glancing up from his glass. "I mean, if Ambrose does have a crush on you or whatever… Do you think he actually does?"

So that was the angle of the question. "Like I said, I don't know," I said, staring intently into my beer. "I think it all goes back to you winning the title from him. It's a revenge thing, y'know… take the title, take your career out from under you for a bit, take the girl…" I trailed off before I said something stupid.

"You're made of stronger stuff though."

"Must be," I chuckled. "Anyway, why are we even talking about Dean Ambrose? Now how is your shoulder, really?"

I was keen to get off the topic. Thinking about Dean made my brain hurt. And the more I got him into my head, the more I recalled certain memories, the less able I was to concentrate on Sami right in front of me. Even though Sami was by all standards a very attractive guy—he didn't have blue eyes like Dean, he didn't have blond hair like Dean, and deep down I knew if I took Sami back to my hotel room tonight, he wouldn't slam me up against a wall and be able to make me come by friction alone… like Dean had. Fuck. I shifted in my seat, and tried to focus on what Sami was telling me about his shoulder. If I could just put him out of my head…

* * *

It's funny what you can really achieve if you put your mind to it… with a little help from my old and reliable friend Mr Alcohol. For the rest of the night, Sami didn't mention Dean Ambrose, and so I didn't think about him. I hadn't smiled so much in weeks.

We called it a night after a couple of rounds each, because it was getting late, and we had to leave early for the next town in the morning. Sami, ever the gentleman, walked me to the door of my hotel room—his was a few floors up.

"That was fun," I said, smiling at him as I rested my hand on the door handle.

"Yeah," he said. There were thoughts playing behind his warm brown eyes—I could see them.

Sami was a very easy guy to read. I always knew when he was about to kiss me. I flicked my tongue out to moisten my lips and then, right on queue, I found myself pressed up against the door to my room with both of his hands at my waist, being kissed gently but insistently. There was a harmony to the way our lips worked together, almost taking turns with the way we opened and closed our mouths onto one another. I felt his tongue lick at my bottom lip, and as I opened my mouth for him he got a little bolder, dipping inside to find my tongue, too. This was the kind of kiss we could never have in the ring—not because it was too raunchy (although I could feel a little heat start to stir in the pit of my stomach), but because it was a private sort of kiss. He was kissing his feelings into me.

As he gently sucked my bottom lip into his mouth I knew that things were going to get carried away if I didn't put a stop to them. Using considerable willpower, I pulled away, letting out a tense breath, but then sucking in again harshly as Sami dipped down and found my neck.

"Sami…" I breathed, and I couldn't suppress a little giggle as his beard tickled against my throat.

"Oh, that's a great reaction, you laughing, when I'm trying to be all smooth," he said, coming back up to look me in the eye again, smirk playing across his face. There was more of a fire in his eyes now.

"How can you possibly try and be smooth with all of this?" I joked, cupping his face with my hands, running my fingers through his auburn scruff. "Hey, you wanna catch up for lunch tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure," he said.

"Awesome, I'll text you tomorrow morning then."

Sami nodded, understanding, and kissed me on the lips one more time, then let me go. Allowing me to take things slowly—he really was the perfect gentleman. And it was really what I needed right now. If I'd taken him into my room tonight—and the way he was pressing up against me I was sure he wouldn't have said no—I knew all I would have been able to think of would be that mop-topped bastard and his fucking magical hands… and tongue… and… Okay, concentrate.

"Goodnight, Georgie," he said.

"Night, Sami."

As he turned to walk back to elevator I exhaled another deep breath, grinned to myself and fished my room key out of my pocket.


	15. Sugar, We're Going Down

_Is this more than you bargained for yet_  
_Oh, don't mind me I'm watching you two from the closet_  
_Wishing to be the friction in your jeans_

* * *

"You sure you're up for this?" I said, adjusting the straps of my fluro green sports bra before putting my arms up in front of me in the guard position.

"I think so," Sami replied, confident smile across his face.

"I mean, you're probably gonna be pretty rusty." I pressed up onto the balls of my toes, at the ready. "I'll go easy on you."

"Aw, thanks, you're so sweet." He was inching forward now, preparing to lock up with me.

The plan was to spar with Sami in the ring for about 5 or 10 minutes, to give me a challenging opponent and to shake some of Sami's ring rust before Sunday. Although we were going to be around for Smackdown tonight, I hadn't been given a match, and Sami wasn't _technically _cleared yet.

We lunged forward at the same time, tieing up with our arms. With Sami I knew I had to be quick—but at the same time I didn't want to risk hurting his shoulder—so I leaned sideways and tangled my feet around his, bringing him to the ground. I tried to bring him into an arm hold, but he wriggled free. As Sami got to his feet I smirked cheekily at him.

"Very good," he conceded, edging towards me again.

When we went to grab for each other again, this time Sami ducked under my arm and wrenched my arm around my back, enough to feel a pinch but not enough to hurt. I tried to twist out, but Sami spun around to my side, dropping down, and dragged me over him, landing on my back on the mat. I gasped out a little at the impact. Being dragged by a male wrestler was a little different to a diva's drag.

"Welcome back, Sami Z," I grinned flirtatiously. As Sami looked down at me, tongue playing at the corner of his lip, I used his distraction to my advantage and kipped up, untwisting my arm from his grasp, and dropkicked him to the face, remembering to pull my kick in at the last minute to avoid hurting him.

"No fair smiling at me like that just to get out of a hold," he complained. "Plus, that won't work on AJ this Sunday."

"But it works on you," I said sweetly, keeping light on my feet as we circled each other. Sami almost—it sounded like he _growled_ and then ran at me. I ducked under his outstretched arm and he bounced off the ropes, coming back. I jumped up high, legs apart, and he ducked under. I spun around on landing, and as he came at me for a third time, this time I had time enough to react. I ducked down, ready to flip him up and over me. He sailed over, slamming down behind me, catching me around the hips.

I realized too late—I was being sunset-flipped. I lost my balance and fell backwards in between Sami's legs, and then he was sitting up and leaning over me into a pin, pressing my legs up either side of my chest. It would have been easy for me to kick out, but with him pressing his weight down on me, breathing hard, eyes with that passionate fire he always got when he wrestled, even when it was just a sparring match—I had another idea, a really fucking good idea.

I grabbed his head and pulled him towards me, crashing my lips to his. Immediately he let go of my legs and used his arms to support himself over me. As he kissed me back I wrapped my legs around his mid-section and pulled him closer, creating satisfying friction between the thin fabric of my black tights and Sami's basketball shorts.

"Is this how you plan to beat AJ on Sunday?" he said, trailing kisses down my neck as I arched my back into him. "Coz I'd really love to see that."

"Sorry, couldn't help myself," I said, breath hitching as he scraped his teeth across my pulse. "Call it a draw?"

Sami chuckled into the crux of my neck. "Whatever you say."

At that, I pushed myself up from the canvas and threw my legs sideways, rolling Sami under me. I was sitting over his hips now, putting just enough pressure on him for him to be slightly uncomfortable. He ran his hands over my thighs and up my waist as I bent down to kiss him again, but as I glanced up to make sure we were relatively alone in the empty arena I caught a flash of something moving up high in the bleachers—something black and white. Damn it.

"C'mon," I said, pushing myself up from my knees, extending an arm to Sami on the ground. He looked up at me in confusion and slight frustration, but took my hand anyway. "Only a few hours before the show. Let's go get ready before we give away any more of your tactics."

I nodded in the direction of the bleachers and Sami glanced over his shoulder.

"Oh," he said. "Good spotting. That dude is so creepy."

I didn't say anything as Sami picked up our water bottles and handed mine to me. I glanced up, transfixed, as the icy glare of Dean Ambrose bore down on us.

* * *

I changed from my workout gear into a three-quarter sleeved black lace dress and black ballet flats, ready for the show. Although I wasn't scheduled to compete, I had been told to show up, and thus expected to be involved in some capacity. I was called into the General Manager's office.

"Hey, Booker," I said, smiling at Booker T as I entered.

"Well, if it isn't the Midnight Train to Georgia," he said, looking me up and down with an endearing smile on his face. I laughed as though I hadn't heard that one before—people love calling me by famous songs.

"What am I in for tonight?" I asked.

"Well, you know AJ is facing Natalya tonight."

I nodded.

"Would you be interested in providing a little color commentary?"

Ringside seats for AJ's last match before I faced her on Sunday. It'd be better than any camera angle, that was for sure.

"Definitely," I said, glad I dressed up a little for the evening now. "Thanks, Booker."

He nodded. "Keep that Cole and JBL in line, too," he added as I headed for the door.

"Oh, I will."

* * *

I hoisted my title over my shoulder and walked out as my music hit, waving to the crowd, slapping a few hands on the way down. Making my way over to the announce table, JBL and Cole stood up as I approached, and sat down as I seated myself on the extremely cushy leather chair and adjusted my headset.

"Hey, wow, these seats are super comfortable," I said, moving the mic in front of my mouth, rotating from side to side in the seat.

"Hey, thanks for joining us—Divas Champion Georgia Rush!" JBL said, gesturing to me as the camera focused in on us.

"Out here to watch the match between AJ and Natalya which is scheduled to start in just a few moments," Cole added.

"Yeeep," I said. "Should be a good match-up."

A moment later, both Natalya and AJ made their way down to the ring, AJ coming over to the ring ropes and staring down at me. I stared back up her, unperturbed.

"Some intense eye contact happening between AJ and Georgia right now," Cole said. "Does AJ worry you at all, Georgia, knowing her reputation for being a little bit _crazy_…"

"You know, you guys talk a lot about AJ being crazy," I cut him off as the bell rang to begin the match. "You say she's 'mentally unstable', but she's not. She's smart and she's passionate and I have a lot of respect for her—"

"Great armdrag from AJ to start the match," Cole interjected as AJ slammed Natalya to the mat.

"You underestimate AJ by calling her crazy," I continued. "But I'm not going to make that mistake at the Pay Per View."

"Fair enough, I think that's exactly right, Georgia," JBL said. "Never underestimate your opponent."

"Natalya now, fighting back," Cole said. Seemed he didn't want to address my takedown of his labelling AJ 'crazy' any further. Good. I was grateful for the absence of Jerry Lawler—Cole was usually able to tone down the sexist schtick when he wasn't around.

AJ quickly took full control of the match—she had that ruthless aggression that Natalya just didn't have in her right now. Her desire to win back the title was written into every kick and slam. As she picked up the pin, I applauded along with the rest of the crowd and stood up with my title, placing the headset back on the desk. AJ did a little sideways smile at me, then skipped back up the ramp, leaving Natalya lying in the ring.

* * *

Later in the evening, I was watching the main event on one of the monitors backstage. I was leaning back in between Sami's legs while he sat perched on a crate, tracing lines over the backs of my shoulders with his fingertips. It felt good—like really good. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back into his chest.

"Are you even watching the match?" he said, ducking his head down, kissing me on my forehead.

"Nope," I replied, opening my eyes to look up at his upsidedown face, reaching up for a kiss, but Sami jerked his head up suddenly. I stood up properly to see what was going on. AJ was approaching us, unreadable expression on her face.

"Hey," she said, coming to a stop right in front of me. "I heard what you said about me on commentary."

"Oh." What stuff did she mean? I said a lot of things on commentary...

"You defended me, said I wasn't crazy," she explained.

"Well… it's true," I said, shrugging. Was this another game of hers?

"I just wanted to say I'm not going to underestimate you either. Not again."

I nodded, understanding. It was a small concession, barely appreciable, but it meant a lot to me. Somehow, in amongst the clusterfuck that had been the last couple of weeks, whether it was my assessment of her tonight or standing up for myself and purposely screwing over Ambrose and the Shield in our tag match, I had earnt the respect of AJ Lee.

"See you on Sunday," she said.

I opened my mouth to reply but she was already skipping away from us. Instead, I turned to Sami and raised my eyebrows—fancy that. He chuckled and pulled me into him, my thighs coming into contact with the crate between his legs.

"Now, where were we?" he said.


	16. Heroes

_I, I will be King  
And you, you will be Queen  
Though nothing will drive them away  
We can be heroes just for one day_

* * *

Waking up on the morning of my second ever WWE Pay Per View, and my first ever WWE title defence, I expected to be nervous. I didn't expect to lie in bed for a few moments, come to the horrifying realization of who and where I was and then immediately rush to the bathroom and be sick. But that was, in the end, what I did. Today could make or break me in so many ways.

After brushing my teeth vigorously and sitting on the cold tiled floor for a minute or two, just thinking, I got up and went about getting ready for the rest of the day. I would start at the local gym for a light cardio workout—nothing heavy on show days—then onto somewhere nice for breakfast. Then I had some media appointments before lunch, then lunch, then from the afternoon onwards I would be at the arena, getting ready, doing stuff.

I breezed through the interviews, giving pre-prepared and vague answers to questions I knew I would be asked at the more mainstream level.

_"Have you always wanted to be a wrestler?"_

"Yes. Ever since I started watching when I was little."

_"What other jobs have you had?"_

"Waitress. Also worked in a book store."

_"What do you think of your opponent?"_

"Smart. Calculating. Tough. I know I'm in for a fight tonight."

* * *

The rest of the day passed like a blur, and before I knew it I was already at the arena—well shit, I was already in my ring gear. I came out of the locker room and went to find Sami. He was looking at the card for the night, checking the order of the matches. Not surprisingly, my match with AJ was on second of the night. A couple matches after that, Sami's match was scheduled. That would at least give me time at least to cool down and sort my shit out before coming out again for the US title bout.

"Hey, you, uh—you want me out there tonight?" Sami asked.

I froze in place—hadn't thought about that one. It was weird; although I knew for damn sure I would be coming out with Sami tonight (we'd been talking about the Pay Per View as if it was a given), I didn't really know if I wanted anyone in my corner. I mean, given all that had gone on lately...

"You know," I said, coming over to him. "I think I might go out solo if that's okay. I mean, this title I basically only have because someone interfered on my behalf. I think it'd be better if I went out there alone, to show that I can do it alone."

Sami nodded. "I can respect that."

He closed his arms around me as I walked into them, feeling a little bit of a glow around my cheeks. "I knew you would. Don't think you'll be able to stop me being at ringside for your match, though."

"I wouldn't want to," he said, putting his hands to my waist. "You think Ambrose is going to be able to keep his eyes off you when he's got me on the ropes? Just be your normal beautiful self and I'll pick up the win in no time." He grinned. "Now can I at least help you stretch and warm up before your match?"

"That I will accept your help on."

* * *

There are some ranges of motion you can only get to with the help of a partner. This one, for instance, was stretching the fuck out of my lats, my inner thighs and my lower back simultaneously—legs out wide, pressed feet to feet with Sami as he pulled both of my arms forward until I was close to touching the floor. I'd need to be as loose as possible I wanted any chance of staying alive in AJ's Black Widow.

"Stretchy," I heard the voice from behind and slightly above me. Sami let go of my hands and got to his feet immediately. I knew who it was.

Slowly, I got to my feet and turned around. Dean was giving me this look, this brazen look, and as Sami went to move around and stand in front of me, I stopped him, kept him back, behind me. Not only did I not want these two to have nothing between them stopping them from going at it before their match… I didn't want Sami to see the look on my face as Dean affected me with his stare.

"Can we do something for you, Ambrose?" Sami said. We're Canadian—we're polite.

"You could give me a minute alone with Georgia," Ambrose replied. "I just need to speak to her."

"If you think that's happening—"

"It's alright, Sami," I said, turning to him and continuing in a whisper. "I'll just go see what he wants—might be important for your match."

"Are you sure?" Sami whispered back, eyeing Ambrose up out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah," I said, resuming normal speaking volume. "If he tries anything I'll just scream."

I glanced at Ambrose. He smirked back, and I knew he was just holding back some witty remark about how he'd made me scream before. Please, I thought to myself, just hold it in until I get Sami out of here.

"Look," Sami said, sighing in resignation. "I'll be over there, just come find me when you're done."

"I'll just be a minute," I assured him. As Sami walked off down the hall, I led Dean around a corner for some privacy. God knows what he had to get off his chest. As long as it wasn't his vest.

"Okay," I said, gesturing around to the emptiness of our surroundings. "What?"

"I just wanted to tell you good luck tonight," he said.

I blinked. "Is that it?"

"Yeah…" he said, looking off to the side. "See, thing is, I always knew you could win shit on your own."

I blinked again, trying to keeping the stunned expression off my face. "Oh, really?"

He shrugged, big utility vest moving up and down over his upper body. "I knew you were the strongest chick in this place, back from the moment you launched yourself onto fuckin' Rollins' back and I had to drag you off kicking and screaming. You've got that fire. Anyway…" There was pink creeping into his cheeks now. Into _Dean Ambrose's _cheeks. I've seen the guy angry—I've never seen him change color like that. Normally, he's ice cold. "I don't know why I did the things I did. I guess I kind of have a chip on my shoulder, y'know? I just wanted to make sure you got what you deserved."

My jaw had, in all of Dean's little revelation, dropped slightly.

"Chip? More like the whole potato," I murmured. "I... thanks, Dean. For clearing that up. It actually means a lot... from you."

I reached up onto tiptoes, kissed him on the cheek and then drew back slowly as he turned his face towards mine, the side of his open mouth dragging along my cheek. Fuck, I was shivering. All the stretching I had just done with Sami—it was like my muscles had tensed right back up again.

"I've got a match," I said, backing away, gesturing over my shoulder like it was in that direction.

"Yeah," he said. "Good luck."

"Thanks, Dean."

* * *

_Light it up..._

AJ came skipping down to the ring, alone, and I was ready waiting for her. She'd told her bodyguard to stay back tonight too, then. This really was going to be a one-on-one contest. I handed my title off to the referee and he held it up in the middle of the ring for all to see. I glanced at it sideways once before focusing in on AJ. Do or die, motherfucker—this is it.

Without the divas title to defend, AJ was all attack, attack, attack—where normally after being pushed to the ground by me she would have rolled out of the ring, tonight she just got straight back up and went at me again. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. From the ring of the bell I put on the backfoot by her aggressiveness.

AJ went for her first submission hold—which I was expecting, quickly flipping her over my head and onto the mat in front of me. Keeping my eyes on her below me I jumped up onto the second rope and arched back, twisting my body around for a splash. I went for the pin, but she kicked out shortly after two.

I had to keep her grounded—I knew that much, so I went to work wearing her down, hitting her with impact move after impact move. Somehow, she was absorbing it all, getting back to her feet, running around, sliding out of the ring now, urging me to follow her. I knew that trick. I wasn't getting into a game of chasey.

Seeing that I wasn't going to follow her out of the ring, she slid back in, and I allowed her to. We were back at square one, facing each other in the centre of the ring. I smiled at her. She smiled back. We knew so many of each other's tricks now. Who was going to be first to pull something new out of the bag?

We grappled in the centre of the ring, trading punches and forearms, kicks and knees. As AJ took hold of my arm and dove forward to twist around behind me, I was somehow able to catch her hair with my other hand—so hair-pulling isn't exactly in the classic wrestler repertoire, but whatever. I needed every trick in the book to beat AJ. She cried out at the sudden jerk, allowing me to wriggle my other arm free and hook it over her head. I pressed up into the mat and hoisted her straight up in the air, then back down face first for a sitout suplex slam. AJ writhed on the ground, rolling over, holding her face and chest.

Getting to my feet, I glanced around, checking our position in the ring, then ran over to the corner. I climbed the ropes facing into the turnbuckle, glancing over my shoulder occasionally to make sure she was still there. I steadied myself on the top turnbuckle, then moved up to a standing position. I haven't done this move since I was up in Calgary with Lance Storm, but he'd taught me to do it… why not?

I launched myself backwards of the ropes, arching back, legs going over my head. I could see AJ lying there as I plummeted towards her, crashing our mid-sections together. The crowd cheered as Michael Cole screamed "Moonsault!" from the announce table. I picked her leg up for the pin and held her down with all my might. Every time the referee's hand hit the mat my heart jumped a little... 1, 2, and 3. Fuck... _yes!_

I knelt back before AJ and grabbed at my head. The referee called for the bell and reached through the ropes to bring me my title. _My _title. That I'd won. This felt like the real victory, and it was just as emotional as the first. I got to my feet and let the ref hold my arm up as AJ rolled out of the ring. The crowd around me was on their feet. I went to the back camera-facing corner of the ring and climbed up to the second rope. As I held the title up above my head I slapped it once and then pumped my fist into the air.

"This," I cried out, for everyone out there as well as backstage to hear. "Is mine!"

As I walked back behind the curtains, title hanging at my side, the announcers were recapping the finish on a nearby monitor.

_"Shades of Lita," _Michael Cole was saying, _"in the finish to our Divas Championship match-up."_

_"Georgia Rush proving she can do it all by herself tonight," _JBL added.

_"Wow, that was… really something," _King said.

I walked all the way back to the divas locker room, and there outside I found waiting for me, Sami Zayn, grinning like an idiot.

"Wow," he said. I did a fake little bow and grinned back at him.

"Give me two secs and I'll be out again," I said.

"Take all the time you need, champ."

* * *

_**Georgia's big night at the Pay Per View and the final showdown between Dean Ambrose and Sami Zayn continues in the...*dun dun dun*...FINAL CHAPTER!**_


	17. Up The Wolves

_I'm gonna get myself in fighting trim  
Scope out every angle of unfair advantage  
I'm gonna bribe the officals  
I'm gonna kill all the judges  
It's gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage_

* * *

I was running off an adrenaline high after the match, which I think Sami found a little annoying, because he was sweating balls about his.

"It's gonna be fine," I was saying, struggling to keep the words from flowing too freely out of my mouth. "You're nervous back here but once you get out there it's just smooth sailing, y'know?"

"Sure," Sami said, pacing up and down in the backstage area. "Sure."

I heard the Shield's music hit, which meant Ambrose was making his down through the crowd right now.

"Ready?" I said, hoisting my title over my shoulder.

"Yeah," Sami said. "Let's do this."

The crowd popped for Sami as he walked out, and then a second, also sizeable, pop for me as I emerged behind him. I could see Ambrose in the ring already, leaning forward onto the ropes, watching us as we came down like a dog guarding it's territory. I went up the steps behind Sami but stayed out of the ring. He leant back into the corner and I kissed him on the cheek before he sprung up onto his feet and moved into the centre of the ring, readying himself for the match to come. I glanced at Ambrose and walked back down the steps.

I felt privileged, being allowed out at ringside to watch this match play out not just once but three times in total, and who knows how many more times before these guys were done with each other? Ambrose was his usual textbook brawling himself, while Sami used his speed and quick thinking to divert Ambrose's attacks and get some in of his own.

Dean was getting frustrated with Sami. As Sami knocked him to the ground with a dropkick, he rolled out of the ring and up the ramp. A count-out victory was not going to be good enough. I ran around the steps after him while Sami got up slowly in the ring. He was wildly swinging his arms, so I reached out and grabbed one, taking him by the wrist. He swung around suddenly, probably thinking I was Sami, but when he saw it was me he actually visibly started, eyes wide.

I didn't know what to say so I just looked at him, silently begging him—get back in the ring and finish the match off, please. He stood silently, gazing at me with intense eyes as the referee counted to four, then five. I stepped to the side, opening up the path for him back to the ring.

"Go," I said—not as a demand but as a request. He looked at me, wrinkled his face up in determination and walked back as the referee got to eight. He slid back in the ring as Sami hung back. As I nonchalantly walked back over to my spot to the side of the ring I saw Sami glance in my direction, trying to read what had just happened.

They started wrestling again, this time with Ambrose looking a little more disciplined against Sami's tight defense. The match dragged on, and on—so many near-falls, so many kickouts. They grappled around the outside of the ring for a bit before Ambrose slid back in, gasping, after Sami rammed him ribs-first into the apron. Sami climbed to the top rope, watching as Ambrose slowly got up, referee checking to see if he was okay to continue.

I saw it before it happened—as Sami leapt off to perform a flying clothesline, Ambrose pulled the referee into the way and himself out of it. Sami tried to pull his arm in mid-air but gravity still carried him straight into the referee. The referee rolled away, arms covering his head as Sami looked down at him, clutching at his own head, eyes full of concern. That second of distraction was all Ambrose needed to knock Sami flying with a lariat clothesline.

Getting to his feet, Ambrose surveyed Sami rolling around on the ground, the referee, still seemingly knocked out. He dropped to the mat himself and rolled out of the ring, yelling at the timekeepers.

"Give me my belt!"

The timid official handed him the strap and Ambrose snatched it away, devious look on his face. He rolled back in the ring and went to stand up, but in the meantime, Sami had gathered enough wits to quickly jump to his feet and catch Ambrose with a DDT. That was about all he had in him, though, as he went straight back down to the mat, still winded, holding his upper chest.

But the title now—it was still in the ring, and with the referee still on the ground, it was still a threat to whoever got there first. Without thinking it over terribly much in my head I slid into the ring, the only person standing with the carnage around me. I bent down and picked up the shiny belt. I had only held it a few times—once, after Sami had won it, and then a couple more times when I was with Dean.

The two competitors were both getting to their feet now, both staggering around, feeling for each other more than looking. I glanced at Dean, and then back at Sami. I felt ill, realizing my immediate instinct was not what I thought it was going to be. I had meant to roll out of the ring with the title and let them continue, but with the belt in my hand I had the power. I could choose now—I could choose the winner, and though I'd never asked for the responsibility, I was stunned to find I relished it.

I shifted back and forth, mind racing with thoughts and feelings that I couldn't suppress. I let them all wash over me in just that split second I had in which to make a decision. Given a longer time to think, maybe I would have gone a different way, but I didn't have that luxury. The only thing I did have was my primal instinct.

Sami spun around first, momentary confusion on his face as he saw me in the ring—but it was only for a moment. I ran forward at him and crashed the title to his skull. I glanced back, seeing the referee slowly getting to his feet, and dropped to the mat, rolling out of the ring. I looked up at Ambrose, who was staring down at me with wide open eyes and a somewhat slack jaw. I held the United States title to my chest and looked back up at him.

'Go on,' I said silently, making meaningful eye contact with Dean. I nodded over to Sami on the mat. 'He's _right there_.'

He gave me a brief nod and then dropped to his knees to cover Sami. The referee dragged himself over and began to count: 1… 2… and 3. Ambrose retains the United States title.

I slid into the ring as Dean stood up, eyes focused solely on me. Belt sitting in my outstretched arms, I slinked over to him and offered it. He raised the corner of his mouth in return, taking the belt from me, and slung it over a shoulder. The crowd was positively jeering. His other arm shot out and pulled me close, wonderment in his steely blue eyes, but as I smirked up at him, I could see them visibly soften.

He glanced to the side at Sami, lying below us, then closed his mouth over mine. He kissed me with a raw confidence, pressing so hard into me that he forced my head and shoulders back. I kissed him back with all my might, letting the world know that I was his, that I fucking _belonged_ to him—releasing every reservation, every fear, every fucking moral restraint that had been holding me back all this time. He released me and I gasped for air, laughing as I wiped away his saliva from my bottom lip. I took Ambrose by the wrist and held his arm up as the victor as I grinned out at the disapproving crowd.

In the end, it had been an easy to decision to make. If Sami had won I would have known exactly my trajectory from here on out: have the nice boyfriend, with the nice title, be the nice couple. But with Dean as champion, and me by his side... it was going to be unpredictable, and that excited me. It was a truth I hadn't wanted to acknowledge for a long time, but watching Dean with his title high in the air and his chest puffed out—glancing sideways at me now and winking so rakishly—I bit my lip, and I knew he was right.

It's more fun to be the bad guy.

* * *

_Our mother has been absent  
Ever since we founded Rome  
But there's gonna be a party when the wolf comes home_


	18. Author's Note and Sequel

Well, hello, guys. Thanks for reading this. Now, if you think Georgia's story has come to an end yet... you'd be wrong. There is a sequel in the works which I am plotting out at the minute.

For now, though, some teasers:

- Our story picks up exactly where we left off... Georgia and Dean need to celebrate obviously!

- The WWE Universe is rocked by the arrival of the creepy Wyatt Family

- Georgia adjusts to working with the Shield, and can't figure out why Seth Rollins seems to hate her so much

- When the Shield stand up against a Wyatt Family hell bent on destruction, Bray Wyatt finds a new obsession

And, of course, there will be plenty of action for Georgia both in the ring and in the bedroom. If this sounds like something you'd like to read, remember to follow/favorite this story (and the author!) so you don't miss the uploading of the first chapter!


	19. SEQUEL: Counting Bodies Like Sheep

**Thanks for so many kind reviews, you guys. As a gesture of goodwill, please enjoy this totally top-secret teaser from chapter 1 of the sequel to this story, which is entitled '****_Counting Bodies Like Sheep_****'.**

* * *

We walked triumphantly, the two of us, hand in hand up the ramp towards the curtain, as my former ally and romantic interest Sami Zayn slowly raised his head. In a daze, he looked up and saw the two of us, and then put his head back straight back down on the canvas. It was a gesture of hopelessness—of knowing what he'd lost. I felt a fleeting moment of guilt, because I was the one who had done that to him, but as Dean turned me towards him at the very top of the stage, just in front of the blinding, flashing lights, I felt only excitement, and hunger. He kissed me again, long and deep, for the world and especially Sami to see—to cement our alliance in their minds, and ours. The Ambrose-Rush era had begun.

"Wow," Dean said as soon as we were behind the curtains. He was buzzing, eyes visibly sparking with excitement. "I can't believe you did that. Why did you do that?"

I grinned and shrugged at him. "Kind of owed you one title victory, didn't I?"

"No, but really—I thought…"

"Shh," I said, putting a single finger to his lips and then moving into his arms. He put them around me. He was warm, and slightly slick with sweat from the match. "I can't really explain why I did it, I just—it just had to be you. I've been with the wrong person. I miss whatever it was we had."

That seemed to be a good enough answer for him as I started to blush beet red.

"C'mon, I've gotta get back to base," he said, taking me by the hand. "And there's no way I'm not letting _you _out of my sight again."

"Aw, you call meeting up with Rollins and Reigns 'going back to base'? You were already cute but that's fucking adorable." I grinned as he glared back at me, but there was a smirk playing on his lips. I knew how to push at the boundaries with Dean, and he usually liked it when I did.

"You can give me cheek because I like you, okay, but watch your mouth around Seth—I already had to break you two up once, remember," he warned.

"Ah… I'll try," I said. I honestly couldn't promise anything. Me and my big mouth.

* * *

**Chapter 1 is NEARLY ready to go up so keep your eyes out. If you want to be notified at the exact minute that I upload, remember to favorite this author! This story won't be updated any longer.**


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